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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187015">Fall of the Swallow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi'>Scruggzi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Hottie get their detective faces on, Intrigue, Long fic is a total bastard to write, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, Not a murder, Not exactly married phrack but pretty close, Phrack get their clothes off, Plane Crash, casefic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:09:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne and Jack have been talked into participating in the first Melbourne to Sydney Air Race. How long before they run into trouble...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elizabeth MacMillan/Original Female Character(s), Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson, Some lovely OCs they are adorable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hubris and Alcohol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreofawaltz/gifts">moreofawaltz</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this fic back in November last year and have been farting around with it for months. Lord Monty was not supposed to be a Crypt of Tears reference and is a different person. Phryne can know more than one idiot called Monty and the fic isn't CoT canon compliant anyway.</p>
<p>Many many thanks to Allison_Wonderland and Moreofawaltz for being fabulous betas/cheerleaders!</p>
<p>I'll be posting a chapter a day, it's all written so you won't be left hanging off too many cliffs!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“My goodness, it can’t be! Bless my soul, if it isn’t the Honourable Phryne Fisher!”</p><p>The well-bred voice and its associated blond moustache drew Phryne’s hand up for a ticklish kiss and a roguish wink. “My dear, I swear it, you haven’t aged a day in - what is it now? Ten years?”</p><p>Jack, who after three years of romantic involvement with Phryne was used to this sort of thing, took a sip of his drink and almost resisted rolling his eyes. He was watching his partner closely to see how she would respond. Jack could tell a lot about these ‘old friends’ of hers by the way she reacted in these situations, and in this case the glint in her eye, and the accompanying predatory smile suggested they could well be in for an interesting night. Just as well, the party had been getting dull, and watching Phryne take down a self-important aristocrat was always entertaining to watch.</p><p>“Monty? Darling it’s been far too long; I had no idea you were in Melbourne! And it’s Mrs Fisher-Robinson these days.”</p><p>Jack managed not to smirk with an effort. The marriage was almost entirely legal, and had helped smooth things over with his superiors, but she would always be ‘Miss Fisher’ to him and Phryne rarely wore the name in public. When she did – as in this instance – it was less worn and more wielded like a battle-axe. Monty did a pronounced double take as his attention focused on Jack for the first time, and Jack presented him with his most amicable ‘calming the public in a crisis’ smile. Although the man probably didn’t deserve it.</p><p>“Lord Edwin Montgomery, allow me to present my husband, Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, of the Victoria Constabulary.”</p><p>She was using his full title, which was probably a subtle opening salvo in whatever attack she was planning. The man extended a hand and met Jack’s eyes with a questioning look, as if he was trying to work out what his game was.</p><p>“Pleasure to meet you, Sah! A pleasure.” The snap had an officer’s bark to it that did not endear ‘Lord Monty’ to Jack at all. Air Force, he suspected. Probably another of Phryne’s wartime acquaintances, although the upper crust all seemed to know each other in one way or another.</p><p>“How do you do, Lord Montgomery?” he replied, taking a perverse pleasure in giving nothing away.</p><p>“Monty, please – and I must say, I am intrigued. Didn’t think there was a man alive who could domesticate our little Phryne! Always such a firecracker!”</p><p>Well, that settled it. The man was a fool, and Phryne was going to be picking his ego out of her teeth by the end of the evening. He could feel her stiffen slightly beside him, the tensed muscles of a tiger about to strike.</p><p>“And you would be quite right. Others may have been fool enough to try, but I have always considered my wife to be more a partner than a house cat.”</p><p>Phryne caught his eye as she turned to him. It was not gratitude; she did not need him to defend her. It was the solid appreciation of knowing your partner always had your back. He was fairly sure he had hit the mark; ‘Monty’ had been one of the many abysmally foolish men who had proposed to Phryne Fisher. A sensible man – as Jack could have told him – would wait for her to suggest feigning an elopement.</p><p>“Monty and I flew together for a while after the war, once I’d returned from France,” she explained lightly.</p><p>“And a capital flyer she was; never seen the like! Not a man in my squadron could have bested her,” the man agreed, confirming Jack’s suspicions about his military background.</p><p>The pride in the man’s voice might have been misplaced, but the clear admiration earned him a grudging point in his favour. Not enough of a fool to be blind to Phryne’s accomplishments, but a fool, nevertheless.</p><p>“Did <em>you </em>ever win a race Monty?”</p><p>Jack knew the answer without even looking at her. He would have known it before the subject had been raised. Phryne had taught him how to fly, and whilst he might at times feel the need to tease her about her driving, when it came to handling a plane, there was no one he trusted more. There wasn’t a chance in hell that this buffoon had ever bested her.</p><p>Lord Montgomery beckoned for a waiter and more of the excellent champagne with which the guests were being liberally supplied.</p><p>“Not that I recall.” Monty’s voice was jovial, but his eyes were sly. “Still, we should talk. Unless a married woman would consider a rematch unseemly?”</p><p>Jack sighed the deep sigh of a man who knew exactly where this was going. Hubris and alcohol, the tragic beginning of so many foolish ventures. Only a few short years ago Jack would have considered himself immune to such reckless behaviour. He smiled into his freshly supplied glass of bubbly. His wife really was a terrible influence on him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Nnnhhhgg.”</p><p>It was about as articulate as she could manage after – God - how many bottles of champagne? Too many to be awake this hour of the day, that was for sure.</p><p>“Phryne?”</p><p>He might be the love of her life, her partner, her single pillar, and really quite excellent in bed, but waking her at this hour was truly unacceptable unless there was a murder to deal with.</p><p>“Phryne, did we agree to take part in an air race last night?”</p><p>A few choice details, hazy with alcohol, began to emerge.</p><p>“That certainly seems like a possibility.”</p><p>She’d committed to more foolish things when drunk, and it was not a good enough reason to wake her up, in Phryne’s opinion.</p><p>Her partner appeared to disagree, if his generalised muttering was anything to go by, but she was in no mood to entertain his grousing just now.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Jack. We’ll win for sure,” she mumbled vaguely.</p><p>“Assuming we don’t crash into a mountain halfway there. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”</p><p>Finally opening her eyes, Phryne appraised him carefully, looking for the little tells that would let her know if he was really annoyed or simply teasing her. Satisfied that it was the latter, she reached out to brush his hair away from his forehead.</p><p>“Don’t sulk, Jack. You know full well you would never have agreed to join me if you really objected. You just love to be contrary when hungover. It’s possible you might even enjoy yourself.”</p><p>Jack turned the corners of his mouth down, the twinkle in his eyes turning the expression into a smile. He was never a sore loser when rumbled.</p><p>“And you enjoy dragging me across the country on a mad whim to prove a point.”</p><p>“Not <em>just</em> to prove a point. You said yourself you’ve wanted to spread your wings a little since you got your licence. What better opportunity than an air race?”</p><p>Jack harrumphed mildly, mostly because he knew she was right. Whatever mad, alcohol fuelled decision had set them on this path, it couldn’t be denied that the idea tugged at the spirit of adventure that forever hid beneath his staid wool suits.</p><p>He loved to fly, ever since that bright, crisp autumn morning when Phryne had taken him up in her plane for the first time. And Phryne was not the only one with a competitive spirit. Monty had grown on him a little over the course of the evening - possibly due to the drink - but, even so, the thought of beating the man at his own game was a very tempting prospect. He just hated to give in to Phryne too easily; it was so much more fun to make her work for it.</p><p>She could tell she was winning; the smile that had begun in the corners of his eyes had spread to his lips, one side curving fractionally up at the corner.</p><p>“It could be fun, some time away, just you, me and the sky. No rules, no responsibilities…”</p><p>“No murders?”</p><p>“Well I can’t promise that. After our inevitable victory, there’s bound to be a mystery or two in Sydney, we can turn our talents to.”</p><p>“There is such a thing as over confidence, you know?”</p><p>“Is there? I can’t say I’ve ever encountered it myself.”</p><p>He gave in, the true smile he had been trying to keep at bay breaking across his face like a sunrise.</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>He pulled her close and kissed her, admitting defeat without regret as his fingers tangled in the soft silk of her hair. Always gracious in victory Phryne, stroked her hands gleefully over his naked chest, suddenly wide awake and ready to claim her prize.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chocks Away!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phryne and Jack set off for Sydney, but trouble follows close behind...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a large crowd gathered on one side of the airfield, a mixture of aviation enthusiasts, journalists and the simply curious. Lord Edwin Montgomery smiled in satisfaction; he had been right, having the Honourable Miss Fisher and her husband in the line-up had really drawn a crowd. He had been surprised when the man agreed to the race, even more so when he offered to co-pilot. The impression he had given initially had been of a total stick-in-the-mud, but after a few drinks he had warmed up tolerably to the point where Monty could almost understand what Phryne saw in the man.</p><p>It was not till later, after he had had his assistant do a bit of digging that he had begun to appreciate what a draw they could make as a couple. The society pages were full of them, first as a scandal, then later as a heroic partnership, always fighting the good fight, keeping Melbourne’s streets safe from all manner of murderers and miscreants. He had no idea what the man was like in the cockpit, of course, but with Phryne there that hardly mattered. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take precautions. He spotted his co-pilot exchanging a cheerful farewell with a smart-looking red-haired woman in a rather fetching fedora. Perhaps this would be a good moment to lay on the charm.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Phryne glanced around the hanger at her competitors. Monty had just entered, striking up an immediate conversation with one of the flyboys from the RAAF base. He was trailed almost immediately by Ada Fellows, a marvellous flyer and newly enrolled member of the Adventuresses’ Club. Monty had agreed to take her on as co-pilot at Phryne’s insistence, and Ada had jumped at the suggestion. To Phryne’s surprise though, the woman did not look at all happy. She was glaring at the dry grass at her feet as if hoping it would ignite under the force of her stare, occasionally looking daggers at her co-pilot behind his back. Phryne tried to attract her attention, hoping to cheer her out of whatever pre-race nerves were troubling her, and was slightly taken aback when her attempts were ignored completely. She and Ada had gotten on very well ever since their first meeting at the Adventuresses’ Club, although admittedly, not as well as Ada and Mac. The good doctor was not the kind to broadcast her romantic attachments, but Phryne was after all a detective, and she had been quietly elated at how happy her best friend had been since Ada had arrived on the scene.</p><p>The Air Force men didn’t seem any keener to make Phryne’s acquaintance, something which Jack, with uncharacteristic restraint, had so far forborne from teasing her about. Possibly he wasn’t keen to encourage a renewed association with their Commander; Jack and Lyle had never really seen eye to eye. It was some time since Phryne had last seen the Group Captain but she hoped he hadn’t felt the need to warn his men away from her; it wasn’t like the man to hold a grudge, and she had no particularly ill feelings towards him.</p><p>Jack, who had been lost in his own thoughts beside her, suddenly looked up and waved. “Reggo! I didn’t realise Phryne had roped you into this as well!”</p><p>‘Reggo’ Jeffries was as much a fixture of the airfield as the scent of aviation fuel and the sound of propellers. He was 65, a lifelong bachelor-of-independent-means, a good-natured fanatic when it came to engines of all kinds, and one of the most remarkably easy-going people Jack had ever met. Phryne had known him since before she had left Melbourne as a teenager and had been very happy to renew the acquaintance. He waved back in response to Jack’s hail and bustled over eagerly to greet them.</p><p>“G’day, Jack! Whiskers will be along any minute, just checking out the crowd. Heavy betting on you two if my sources are to be trusted – and you’d better believe they are.” He turned to Phryne, pale blue eyes twinkling in a bed of wrinkles. “He asked me to pass on his thanks for those delicious scones Mrs Collins brought along last week. It’s a hard life for a bachelor you know, always lacking the home comforts.”</p><p>Billy Whiskers was Reggo’s flight partner and he had also known Phryne long enough to remember chasing her and her sister away from the airfield, when they had been nothing but grubby little Collingwood street urchins, trying to catch sight of the planes as they took to the sky. It had been a delightful surprise to find the two of them still flying, despite their habit of providing Jack with all sorts of scurrilous information about her misspent youth.</p><p>“I hope you enjoyed them, too, Reggie; I know what that man’s sweet tooth is like – I bet you never got a bite in edgeways. In fact, I am under strict instructions to give you these.”</p><p>She lifted a basket by her feet, containing some choice treats freshly baked by Dot, who had a soft spot for the two old aviators, despite her continued aversion to getting in a plane herself.</p><p>“What’s this? Trying to sabotage the competition, are we?” Billy entered, drawn by the inexorable pull of cake.</p><p>He slapped Jack good naturedly on the back and planted an appropriately whiskery kiss on Phryne’s cheek. His apparent suspicions were not enough to prevent him from selecting a large currant bun from the basket and munching it down greedily.</p><p>They continued in pleasant conversation for a few more minutes before the voice of the compère bellowed out “Competitors, take your places!”, the sound traveling easily through the open hangar doors.</p><p>As they emerged into the sunlight, Phryne recognised the man as Biggo, one of the mechanics who usually hung around smoking and listening to Reggo, Billy and the other airfield regulars as they swapped tall tales and gossip. He’d begun working there over a year ago but had always seemed a shy sort, not one to put himself forward; she knew he had learned his trade during the war and had assumed his reserve stemmed from the same source, but her attempts to draw him out of himself had been less than successful.</p><p>It was a pleasant surprise to discover that not only could the man speak in full sentences, he actually had an impressive presence on the stage; his thick Collingwood accent had been somewhat refined for the occasion, and he had drawn himself up to his full and impressive height. Standing on the podium in front of the pavilion, megaphone in hand and all shyness gone, his voice was clear and engaging with the lilting cadence of a circus ringmaster. Perhaps the man had missed his calling.</p><p>There was a brief flurry of activity as the competitors secured hats and scarves against the cold. A susurrus of anticipation ran through the crowd as each team took their places next to their plane. Phryne took Jack’s arm – the man really did fill out a flight suit very nicely – and waved enthusiastically to the assembled onlookers before taking her place in front of the brand new <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Havilland_Swallow_Moth">Swallow Moth</a> she had bought especially for the occasion.</p><p>“Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome, one and all to the first Annual Melbourne to Sydney Air Race. Braving this Four-Hundred- and Fifty-mile journey are four intrepid teams, each of them eager to make history today!”</p><p>The whoops and cheers of the crowd rose up into the morning air to mingle with the rising scent of aviation fuel and grasses drying in the sun. Clearly enjoying his role, the erstwhile mechanic began to list off the names of the participating teams.</p><p>“Allow me to introduce our first team. Everybody raise your voices and your glasses to the fine servicemen of the Royal Australian Air Force. Squadron Leader Nicholas McTavish and Flight Lieutenant Johnathon Hastings! Starting positions please gentlemen”</p><p>The two men saluted smartly and waved at the crowd; McTavish hopped into the cockpit whilst Hastings got ready to start the propeller.</p><p>“Our next two pilots have been flying since before many of you were born and what they don’t know about aviation simply isn’t worth knowing. Please give a generous hand for my good friends Reggo Jeffries and Billy Whiskers.”</p><p>Reggo looked a little abashed at the enthusiasm, and after a brief if sincere wave of thanks, positioned himself in the back seat of his plane. Billy, who was more inclined to enjoy the limelight, took the opportunity to blow kisses to young women in the crowd, much to Phryne’s amusement.</p><p>“I’m sure all of you know our next team. Melbourne’s most famous intrepid detectives, Mrs Phryne Fisher-Robinson and her husband and credit to the Victoria constabulary, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”</p><p>The cheer of the crowd was noticeably louder this time. Phryne and Jack had graced the social pages enough times to have acquired something of a celebrity status. Phryne of course was well used to it, but it still tended to take Jack a little by surprise. Phryne ignored his embarrassment as always, electing instead to pull him into a passionate kiss, drawing wolf whistles and further cheers from the crowd. She winked at him roguishly over her shoulder as she swung into her seat and he couldn’t help but smirk at her ridiculous antics, onlookers entirely forgotten.</p><p>The compère waited a moment for the cheering to quiet before introducing the final team.</p><p>“Aaand finally, a man who needs no introduction, Veteran of the Royal Air Force, three times decorated pilot, Marquis of Wittering-upon-Tweed, and founder of the First Annual Melbourne to Sydney Air Race; Lord Edwin Montgomery!”</p><p>The cheer that followed was almost as loud as the one Phryne and Jack had received. Something which both Monty and Phryne noticed as he took his place in the front of the plane.</p><p>“And joining him in this first intrepid and historic venture. Renowned aviatrix and heir to the Butterbey’s Biscuit empire, Miss Ada Fellows!”</p><p>The subsequent round of applause was still enthusiastic, but somewhat shorter than the previous as the crowd grew impatient for the action to begin. Biggo nodded to a young lad at the foot of the compère’s podium who began a drumroll on an old oil can set there for the purpose.</p><p>A hush fell over the crowd.</p><p>“Contestants, start your propellers!”</p><p>Jack did so, swinging nimbly into his seat to a chorus of ‘contact’ as each plane readied to depart.</p><p>“On your marks.”</p><p>“Get set.”</p><p>“Chocks away!”</p><p>They soared gracefully up into the clear blue sky, the wind tugging at the flyboy scarf wrapped around Jack’s neck and bringing the colour to Phryne’s cheeks. It was exhilarating, and as the airfield and the crowd were swallowed by the expanding landscape, she let out a whoop of delight and heard her partner’s answering laugh. He looked back at her, his face split into a broad grin, all reservations abandoned now they were airborne.</p><p>Monty was pulling up ahead of them in his Gipsy Moth and Phryne increased her speed, rising steadily into the chill air. Ada appeared to be doing the actual flying, whilst Monty blew an insouciant kiss in Phryne’s direction. Noticing the irritation on her face, Jack rose to the occasion as he always did.</p><p>“I’ll hold her steady for you, if you like?”</p><p>“Marvellous idea, darling. Perfect weather for a stroll.”</p><p>Jack took over the controls, keeping the plane perfectly level. Phryne slipped out of her seat and stepped out onto the wing, drinking in the sights below as fields and little towns gave way to woodlands and wilderness. She did not forget to blow Monty a kiss in return and noticed with satisfaction that he did not attempt to match her raised stakes and get out on a wing himself. Ada barely glanced at them, instead taking advantage of Miss Fisher’s showing-off to pull ahead and gain the lead. Having made her point, Phryne slid gracefully back into her seat, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensory pull of the g-forces as Jack increased speed once again, leaving the other competitors far behind. It really was the most marvellous way to travel.</p><p>It was a lovely morning, the clear sky allowed for excellent views of the changing landscape as they crossed from Victoria to New South Wales. They had been sharing the flying, each taking the time to marvel at the sights of distant bushland and craggy peaks far below them. The only real downside was the lack of conversation; the sound of the engine was too loud for more than brief shouts to point out some interesting landmark or to warn of turbulence.</p><p>They were making excellent time and there had been no sign of their fellow racers for an hour or more. Even Jack had begun to think that their victory was looking likely. Around lunchtime though, things started to go wrong.</p><p>It began with a strong breeze and a build-up of cloud away to the south. This area was known to be treacherous to the unwary flyer and unexpected crosswinds and sudden storms were common. This one was still comfortably far off, but the wind that came ahead of it was buffeting the plane hard. Phryne was flying, knuckles tight, trying to ride with the wind, the detour taking them further and further North towards the Blue Mountains. Jack glanced warily towards the oncoming clouds and checked the instruments, thinking that perhaps more height might help them to keep out of the way. He drew a sharp breath, eyes widening in horror.</p><p>“Phryne, the fuel tank’s almost empty. How far do we have to go?” He could have sworn it had been more than half full the last time he had checked it.</p><p>“It can’t be Jack; all the planes were filled up before we left, and we’ve got miles to go yet!”</p><p>As if determined to contradict her, the engine began to whine pathetically, and Phryne gritted her teeth, not bothering to acknowledge the obvious fact that Jack had been right.</p><p>“Brace yourself, Inspector. I’m going to set her down.”</p><p>The decent was far too rapid, and the fractious winds blowing ahead of the fast approaching storm became stronger the lower they flew. Phryne’s concentration was absolute as she bent the uncooperative machine to her will, pulling up to keep the pitch safe for landing. They were about halfway down when the engine began to stutter, each shock causing the plane to jolt violently despite Phryne’s efforts to keep her steady.</p><p>There was a clear stretch of grassy meadow ahead, flat and level enough for an easy landing, but the engine was now spluttering and wheezing, running on fumes and the iron will of the woman flying it. Somehow the landing sight appeared much further away than it had before; switching targets in the blink of an eye, Phryne made for a rocky plateau of slightly sloping and rougher ground lying dead ahead.</p><p>“Hold on, Jack. This is going to be a bit bumpy.”</p><p>They came in low over an overgrown stretch of bushland, the wheels of the plane grazing the tops of the trees, as the landscape flashed past at a nauseating speed. The slope of the plateau was greater close up and the ground was speeding up to meet them far too fast for comfort. With a final splutter, the engine died just as the wheels crunched into the bare slope of the mountainside, their metal joists splintering beyond repair.</p><p>The plane continued up the slope for what could have been 200 feet, the wrecked remains of the landing gear acting as a break to slow them down even as it snapped, lowering the belly of the plane to the ground with a thump that shook their bones. Phryne was still trying in vain to slow them down, but her control over the plane had long since been reduced to negligible. She saw Jack’s head smack into the hard metal edge of the front cockpit as they hit a rock, her anguished cry swallowed up by the sound of splintering metal and stone. It was no use. She gave up trying to steer and braced herself, praying like hell to a god she had never trusted that Jack’s notoriously hard head would protect him.</p><p>She would never forgive herself if it didn’t.  </p><p>Luckily, the combination of the upward slope and whatever breaking equipment remained functional appeared to be enough to slow them down and after what seemed like an age – although it was actually less than a minute. They came to a smoking, groaning stop at the base of a tall cliff, its jagged grey stones snarling at the sky like rotten teeth.</p><p>Phryne jumped up at once, calling for Jack but getting no answer.</p><p>Panic gripped her as she looked down on his dear face, ashen and lifeless, eyes closed, a bloody gash across his forehead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Swallow Moth was an actual plane and although it was a prototype and it's very unlikely Phryne would have owned one I just couldn't resist. Also I made it look totally different to the actual plane. Basically I just liked the name and ignored the facts please forgive me 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dorothy Collins, Lady Detective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dot is waiting in vain for Phryne and Jack to arrive in Sydney. She makes a new friend and crosses paths with an old enemy...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Because I am fiendish and evil you will have to wait a little while to find out what has befallen Jack whilst Dot takes charge. Do not mess with Dot, she's cute but she's fierce!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dorothy Collins was by this point in her life no stranger to travel. After their marriage, she and Hugh had taken a lovely trip to Sorrento to spend a few long, luxurious days in the September sunshine, and in the years since, she had been lucky enough to accompany Miss Fisher on adventures all over the world. There had been a lot less mayhem and considerably less murder to deal with on her honeymoon than when traveling as an assistant to a Lady Detective, but a young bride with a handsome husband could still find plenty of ways to amuse herself. The memory of some of them still made her blush happily, even after years as a married woman.</p>
<p>It was ridiculous, given the wealth of experience she had, for her to be nervous about a little trip to Sydney. Dot told herself this forcefully as she checked and rechecked her First Class ticket, glancing nervously around in case someone was about to escort her out of the dining carriage in disgrace. The truth was that, although she had travelled much further afield before, it had never been alone. Without Phryne by her side, she couldn’t help but feel like a little bit of a fraud when surrounded by this kind of luxury.</p>
<p>‘For goodness sake, Dorothy Collins, get a grip on yourself!’</p>
<p>The internal scolding didn’t do much to quell her nerves, but it at least gave her something to do. Miss Phryne had asked her to travel ahead to meet her in Sydney – full of promises for interesting things to do and people to visit – and that was that. Dot could never have let her down. Besides, one of the very first, and most enduring lessons Dot had learnt on becoming Miss Fisher’s companion, was that being afraid was no reason not to do what needed to be done. You gritted your teeth and did it anyway, and every time you did, you became a little bit less afraid.</p>
<p>She forced herself to pick up her menu in an unconcerned manner and ordered the soup without even looking at the price. Perhaps she would have a glass of wine as well. After all, Miss Fisher had told her to enjoy herself. She eyed the wine list with suspicion, relieved that not all of the options were in languages she couldn’t read. Ordering an Australian vintage probably counted as patriotic, although she drew the line at anything from Maiden Creek.</p>
<p>She settled in to sip a crisp glass of white and wondered if she could ever learn any of those languages herself. Miss Fisher never seemed to have any trouble picking things up when they travelled together. Hugh had been supportive of her newly discovered wanderlust, although he rarely got much time away from the station himself. He had worked hard to gain his promotion to Junior Detective, and Dot was prodigiously proud of him. Despite a few early hiccups, they had managed to find their rhythm and learn to work together, throwing themselves into their work in the absence of…well, there was no need to dwell on that.</p>
<p>She attempted to sternly redirect her train of thought towards the relative merits of French or German, when her attention was distracted by a disturbance at the entrance to the dining carriage. Someone was trying to force his way into First Class, past a conductor who was clearly not having any of it.</p>
<p>Dot gasped as she recognised the man, who was abusing the conductor roundly and claiming to have misplaced his ticket. Although from her knowledge of him, Mrs Collins didn’t believe a word of it. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she no longer felt even remotely hungry. That voice was a solid reminder of one of the worst, most embarrassing, moments of her young life. She blushed to the roots of her hair, but somehow couldn’t tear her eyes away. Any minute now. he would surely see her and then…</p>
<p>As if alerted by her observation, Fredrick Burn - a failed pornographer who gave the gutter press a bad name - met her eyes with a surprise which very quickly turned to fear. All of a sudden, the man seemed very willing to return to his own compartment and leave the First Class diners to enjoy their meal in peace. Unsurprising, really, given that Hugh had made it very clear what the consequences would be if Burn was caught harassing Dot again; she couldn’t help but grin slightly at the memory.</p>
<p>As a good Catholic woman, Dot would of course never take a perverse pleasure in seeing a grown man flee from her in terror. She did however smile in satisfaction as a mouth-watering bowl of onion soup was placed in front of her. Perhaps she would get a pudding later. As Miss Phryne would say, there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Dot sat in pride of place next to the compère’s podium. Her seat had been arranged in advance by Phryne, who knew her companion would not be able to rest easy until she had reassured herself that Phryne and her inspector were safe and sound. She therefore had an excellent view when the first plane appeared on the horizon; a tiny whirring speck in the distance, too far away to make out properly. As the outline became clearer however, her heart sank; it was not the deep ocean blue of Phryne’s Swallow, but the bright, jovial yellow of Lord Montgomery’s Gipsy.</p>
<p>Dot possessed, in almost every area of her life, an unshakable well of simple common sense. Simple common sense told her that whilst Miss Fisher would doubtless be disappointed not to win, she would congratulate the winner in good humour and celebrate with everyone else. However, this rational argument was backing up against the fervent, if naïve, belief that Phryne was simply incapable of failing at anything. There was a creeping feeling, a slow building fear oozing and squirming in her gut, screaming at her that something was terribly wrong. She breathed deep, in and out, the way Dr Mac had taught her when she felt nervous. It would be alright. They would be here soon, and everything would be alright.</p>
<p>A second plane appeared before the first had landed; military grey this time, with the Air Force insignia on the side. Dot could hear her heart thumping loud enough to drown out the excited screams and cheers from the crowd; Lord Montgomery and Miss Fellows stepped down from their plane. He was waving and charming the crowd with waves and flirtatious smiles, his companion looking relieved but considerably less comfortable in the spotlight than Lord Monty.</p>
<p>Dot had met Miss Fellows once or twice with Miss Phryne, although she didn’t know her well, and scared as she was, she couldn’t help wondering why the woman seemed to look so put out, given that she’d secured first place. Perhaps she was just shy. She watched the pair as they ascended the steps of a small dais where the Lord Mayor of Sydney was waiting to present them with a trophy commemorating their victory, but before long her attention had returned to the skies.</p>
<p>The next twenty minutes were a nightmare of waiting. Dot had managed to smile politely and congratulate the victors and the runners up, but she hadn’t heard a word since they’d landed and hadn’t taken her eyes off the sky more than politeness dictated. She gripped her rosary as tight as she could in one gloved hand and prayed harder than she ever had that Miss Phryne would be alright.</p>
<p>Finally, far in the distance, a dark blue speck appeared, and Dot almost cried with relief. It got larger and larger. Too large. It wasn’t Miss Phryne’s plane. It was also flying a little erratically and the landing was considerably less graceful than the previous two. Billy Whiskers jumped out of his cockpit looking worried and called for assistance to help Reggie down.</p>
<p>Dot was really worried now, but not so worried that she had failed to move close enough to eavesdrop as the pair were checked over by a doctor. She really should have offered her assistance; she knew both men as occasional dinner guests at Wardlow and very appreciative recipients of baked goods, but it was all she could do to hold herself together. Reggo was pale-faced and holding his arm close to his body, his normally booming voice strained with pain - and Miss Phryne still wasn’t anywhere to be seen.</p>
<p>“Bloody bad luck, this. Ran into some rough weather and took a nasty whack. Hurts like the Devil.”</p>
<p>The information did nothing to ease her fears. If the weather had been bad enough to trouble these two seasoned flyers…</p>
<p>Images of Miss Phryne lying dead in some deserted ravine, the Inspector pale and bloody by her side, rose up and threatened to choke the life out of her. She couldn’t breathe, tears which she had held back till now prickled the corners of her eyes. Not wanting to make a scene, she began to walk as quickly as she could behind the little tent out of which a few enterprising lads were selling beer and peanuts to the crowd. The sound of her own breathing was loud in her ears and the tears which she had been holding back began to run down her cheeks despite her attempts to stop them…</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t fret too much about Phryne, old girl. It’s a dangerous game, flying, but that Lady’s a born survivor. It would take more than a bit of bad weather to hold her up for long.”</p>
<p>Dot started; whoever had followed her had been extremely stealthy about it.</p>
<p>To her surprise – given that the woman should surely have been celebrating her victory – she found herself looking into the dark, concerned eyes of Miss Ada Fellows. Her sharp, handsome face had a solidity to it, as if she had been carved from marble, and projected the effortless, diamond-hard self-assurance that only the truly wealthy could afford. Her voice, however, held no hint of condescension, and she appeared sincere in her faith in Phryne. The thought was reassuring; Ada Fellows was not a woman to sugar-coat bad news.</p>
<p>Dot managed a nod and a hiccup.</p>
<p>“Miss Phryne is a wonderful pilot, and the Inspector is very cool in a crisis,” she agreed, “it’s silly to be so worried.”</p>
<p>Miss Fellows was scrutinising her closely, her face unreadable; glancing around to check they remained unobserved, she pulled a hip flask from the inside pocket of the flight suit she was still wearing and passed it along.</p>
<p>“Doctor’s orders,” she insisted, and Dot noticed the inscription set inside an elegant art deco cartouche.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘To keep you warm on cold nights. EM’</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, was this a present from Doctor McMillan?” she asked. She had not realised the two were so close and felt rather flattered that Miss Fellows’ had put her in a position to find out.</p>
<p>“She’s a generous woman,” she replied with a wink.</p>
<p>Dot had been employed by Miss Fisher long enough that the double entendre was not lost on her, but not so long that it failed to make her blush. Thinking it best not to argue with Elizabeth McMillan, even via proxy, she elected to cover her embarrassment by taking a somewhat larger gulp than she had intended and choking slightly as the whiskey burned her throat.</p>
<p>It helped a little.</p>
<p>“Now, buck up old girl, and let’s get back to the celebrations. If she’s not back within the hour we can mount a search and rescue, there’s plenty of light left.”</p>
<p>“You mean you <em>do</em> think something’s happened to her?”</p>
<p>“I won’t say it’s not possible, but my money’s on them setting down somewhere to wait out whatever bad weather broke poor Reggo’s arm. In the meantime, I need your help.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do my best Miss Fellows, what do you need?”</p>
<p>“For you to call me Ada, for starters. But more importantly, I need you to help me prevent a murder.”</p>
<p>Dot straightened up and set her jaw. This was her job after all, and it was all too rare that she and Miss Fisher managed to start investigations in time to stop anyone getting killed.</p>
<p>“You think someone’s going to be murdered Miss… Ada?”</p>
<p>“I’m certain of it.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“Lord Edwin Montgomery. If the man doesn’t stop hinting that I will be ending this night in his bed, he’s going to lose what he probably considers to be a vital organ. I will be having words with Phryne about her decision to partner me up with him. Odious little worm.”</p>
<p>Dot laughed in spite of herself, deciding that she rather liked Ada even if – or perhaps because – she was a little scandalous.</p>
<p>She allowed herself to be led back to the celebrations, and the for next hour she tried to concentrate on keeping Lord Montgomery a safe distance away from Miss Ada, and Miss Ada away from any sharp objects. It helped to keep busy, but every few minutes she would glance up at the sky, which was still unnervingly devoid of flying detectives.</p>
<p>By 4pm, with Lord Monty blessedly un-murdered, Dot had had enough. She was thoroughly disappointed in all of them, talking and drinking and eating whilst Miss Fisher and the Inspector could be hurt, or worse!</p>
<p>By the time she had finished berating his Lordship for the lack of proper safety precautions, the man was ready to agree to practically anything to stop her yelling at him, but pointed out that he was himself in no state to fly, having spent the past hour celebrating his victory. Ada stood slightly to one side, suitably impressed, as Dot rounded up the two flyboys from Melbourne Airbase, checked that they were sober, and packed them back into their plane with all the brusque efficiency of a commanding officer. She then departed in high dudgeon (and a taxi summoned by Lord Monty) to send a telegram. Hugh deserved to know what had happened.</p>
<p>Ada followed, jumping easily into the cab next to her before it drove away.</p>
<p>“There’s something I should have told you,” she said without preamble. “Didn’t want to make a fuss till I knew for sure there was something up, but I’d have thought we’d have heard from Phryne by now; even if they hit bad weather they could have radioed in their position. I’m starting to think there could be something fishy afoot.”</p>
<p>Dot looked across at her companion, expectant and worried, but no longer panicking now she had something to do.</p>
<p>“Before we left Melbourne, that bastard called me back behind the hangar. Thought it was just another attempt to get fresh and I went after to give him a piece of my mind.”</p>
<p>“What did he want?” The woman’s tone had implied that there was more to this than the man’s unwanted advances.</p>
<p>“Asked me to throw the race; offered me a lot of money to do it too” she explained indignantly, “told him he could stick it up his arse.”</p>
<p>“Sounds very fishy. Why would he want to lose his own race?”</p>
<p> “Said it would be better publicity if Phryne won, and he wanted to make an annual event of it. The thing is, rumour has it he’s sunk the last of his money into this caper. He’s cut corners everywhere you look.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like something that might be worth investigating.”</p>
<p>Ada nodded in agreement. “Spot of good luck Phryne sent a detective along, really.”</p>
<p>Dot flushed and smiled at the compliment. It was true, she was a detective, and if there was a mystery here, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Other Detective Collins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hugh gets a telegram from Dot and decides to ask for help from an unlikely source, unfortunately the constable working with him has something of a chip on his shoulder...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Junior Detective Hugh Collins leant back in his boss’s vacant chair and munched on a victorious biscuit. Hugh had said his goodbyes to Dottie only that morning and already missed her a great deal, but he had learned long ago that coming between his wife and her employer was a losing battle. Besides, she deserved a holiday. He might even have gone with her, but the Inspector had suggested that he could benefit from some command experience and had entrusted care of the station to him whilst he was busy with the race. He was not the most senior officer left in the station, not by some way and he was very gratified by the trust his boss had shown in him.</p>
<p>“Some of the blokes might not be happy about it,” the Inspector had warned, “don’t let them get to you and don’t let any of them try to run this place from the bullpen. Until I get back, you’re in charge.”</p>
<p>Hugh was well aware that he owed his swift promotion within the force to his mentor’s continued support and was determined not to let him down. So far, apart from the usual low-level gang fights and drunkards, his first day in the big chair had been fairly uneventful. Of course, it would be gratifying if he could solve a dramatic, gruesome murder, or rescue a kidnapped heiress or something, but Hugh was more than happy to settle for being a steady hand at the tiller in the Inspector’s absence.</p>
<p>There was a light rap on the office door, and he was quite proud of the way he did not hide the Inspector’s biscuit tin guiltily in the drawer before calling for them to enter.</p>
<p>“Telegram for you, sir.”</p>
<p>Senior Constable Martin managed to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum, which Hugh respected. Martin had briefly worked with Inspector Robinson, after Jack had taken Hugh aside and convinced him to clear his head before giving up the badge. It was understandable that Hugh’s return and subsequent rise through the ranks had irked the man, and, although Dottie had never said as much, Hugh was enough of a detective to suspect a certain degree of jealousy in that direction as well. Not that Martin had ever been exactly hostile towards him. He had too much respect for the chain of command. But there was something stilted in his civility, as if every utterance of the word ‘Sir’ in Hugh’s direction came at a great personal cost.</p>
<p>It was therefore unfortunate for both parties that it was Martin who was in the room when Hugh opened the telegram his wife had sent, telling him that Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson had never made it to Sydney, and that she and Doctor MacMillan’s friend, Miss Fellows, were now investigating the possibility of foul play.</p>
<p>“Is something the matter? I saw the post mark is from Sydney, is it from Inspector Robinson?” Martin asked, craning his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the missive.</p>
<p>“No, it’s from Mrs Collins.” Hugh tended to call Dottie that whenever she informed him that she was about to – or already in the middle of – doing something dangerous or illegal in the service of Miss Fisher. It scared him half to death every time, but he couldn’t say he didn’t know who he was marrying.</p>
<p>“Shut the door, will you?”</p>
<p>He nodded at the seat opposite and Martin took it, looking curious.</p>
<p>“The Inspector and Miss Fisher never reached Sydney; they’re missing. Dottie says they might have been delayed by bad weather, but she thinks… she thinks there might be more to it.”</p>
<p>“Do you think she’s right?” Martin’s tone suggested that he would have been willing to believe just about anything if Dottie had suggested it, something which might have caused considerably more of a problem at just about any other time.</p>
<p>“Well... I’d say if there’s any trouble to be found, you can be sure Miss Fisher will have found it.”</p>
<p>Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose, an unconscious habit he had picked up from his boss, usually in response to something Miss Fisher had done and mysteriously failed to tell him about. Hugh was certain that if anyone could survive a plane crash – and there was, he reminded himself – as yet no evidence that they had crashed, it would be the Inspector and Miss Fisher. <em>Mrs Fisher-Robinson,</em> he mentally corrected himself. He never seemed able to get the hang of remembering that.</p>
<p> In any case, the thought of sitting behind a desk whilst his friend and mentor was in trouble was intolerable. He scanned the telegram again and made up his mind.</p>
<p>“Dottie says the couple of RAAF blokes who were in the race are already headed back. It wouldn’t do any harm to have a quick chat with their boss before they get here, but I don’t want the whole station worried over nothing before we know what’s going on.”</p>
<p>Hugh put the Inspector’s depleted biscuit tin back in his desk drawer in as decisive a manner as a man can hide confectionery.</p>
<p>“Bring the car around, could you? And Martin, keep it under your hat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>To the considerable relief of both officers, the drive to the RAAF base was professionally occupied. Martin had not been at City South the last time they had had a case that overlapped with the Air Force’s jurisdiction, so Collins took the time to fill him in as he considered his approach. Having been treated to both the displeasure and comradery of the military, he did not underestimate them, and he was going to need their help if he wanted to find the Inspector and Miss Fisher. Group Captain Compton was an intelligent man, he would realise that the Victoria Police Force did not have the capability to mount a rescue operation without help.</p>
<p>“I think it would help if we seemed a bit shaken up, and really worried about Miss Fisher’s safety.” He took care to make the observation intonate like an order, the way the Inspector had taught him. “And it would definitely help if we looked like we were a pair of bloody idiots.”</p>
<p>The Constable did not look especially happy about that, and Hugh instinctively moved to reassure him. “Captain Compton and Miss Fisher are old friends. If he thinks he’s the only one who can help her, he’s much more likely to,” he explained. To his relief, once he understood the plan, Martin appeared mollified and nodded in agreement. Still, given the man’s general attitude towards him, Hugh found himself sending up a quiet prayer that Martin’s desire to obey orders would win the day, and not entirely believing it.</p>
<p>To be fair, the plan that was forming in his head was not exactly one that Inspector Robinson would have considered. That was a little worrying, but on the memorable night where he had gotten his promotion, Jack had poured him a glass of whiskey in his office and told him to trust his instincts. ‘You have to find your own way, every man does’ he had said. As in most matters, the Inspector had been right, and it was time to put that advice to the test.</p>
<p>They pulled up at the gate with a brief squeal of tires. The guard on duty was a handsome man in his mid-20s, who, to his credit, had fully perfected the bland, thousand-yard stare that the position required. Hugh affected an air of mild panic and was relieved to feel the nervousness radiating off his constable – although he was not sure that was entirely feigned.</p>
<p>“I need to speak to Group Captain Compton immediately.”</p>
<p>“Name?”</p>
<p>“Detective Collins and Constable Martin, with the Victoria Police. It’s very important I speak with him at once.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have an appointment, Detective.”</p>
<p>“No, there wasn’t time. Please could you contact the Group Captain and tell him that Miss Fisher is missing, and we believe he may be able to help us find her?”</p>
<p>It was a gamble; Hugh was not entirely sure what Miss Fisher’s relationship with the Group Captain had been, but he had had several years to study the reactions of men around her and was willing to bet that Compton would worry if she was in trouble. Given he had no jurisdiction on military grounds, it was his best bet to gain the man’s good faith.</p>
<p>“I can go back to the station and have the Chief Commissioner contact him if I have to, but a woman’s life is at stake, not to mention my Inspector’s. I don’t think Lyle would be very happy about the delay.”</p>
<p>The name drop was another risk – he barely knew Compton to speak to – but thankfully it seemed to do the trick with the gate guard. The man appeared to have decided that this problem was above his pay grade and went back into the gatehouse to contact his superior.</p>
<p>He was not gone long, and with true military proficiency, it was less than five minutes before Detective Collins and Constable Martin were escorted by a courteous - if well-armed and unsmiling - Airman into Compton’s office.</p>
<p>Although they had fought alongside each other during the capture of Rupert Higgins and his communist cronies, Hugh’s abiding memory of Compton was very much of the time that he and the Inspector had been caught breaking into the airbase. The experience of cowering in the centre of a circle of rifles was not one he cared to repeat. Compton had been the one to call those men off – yet another reason Hugh suspected that strong arm tactics would not work to his advantage.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon Detective, Constable” Compton’s voice was cordial if not exactly warm, and he clearly recognised Hugh from their previous encounter because he followed the greeting with “Congratulations on the promotion. As Jack’s not with you, I assume whatever trouble Miss Fisher is in, he’s right in the thick of it.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>Hugh was a little surprised at the man’s use of the Inspector’s given name, he had not got the impression the two liked each other very much. Beside him, Constable Martin was bristling slightly with indignation, although whether this was due to Compton’s over familiarity with their boss or Hugh’s feigned deference, he couldn’t tell.</p>
<p>Apparently determined to play his part, or perhaps to cover up his irritation, the Constable affected a slightly tremulous voice and added “Yes, we’re ever so worried about him.”</p>
<p>He was laying it on a bit thick in Hugh’s opinion, but if the Captain suspected anything amiss, he didn’t show it.</p>
<p>“You know that Miss Fisher and the Inspector were taking part in an air race today?” It would have been a surprise if the man didn’t know – the race had been all over the newspapers – but Hugh was good at playing to underestimation when he wanted answers.</p>
<p>“I do indeed, two of my finest pilots were competing as well – and by all accounts appear to have beaten them. Spot of bad weather, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>“My wi… that is, Miss Fisher’s assistant, is concerned that Miss Fisher hasn’t arrived in Sydney yet. One of the other pilots thinks they may have been forced to set down due to bad weather and could be stranded.”</p>
<p>“So I’ve heard, Detective, and I must congratulate you again, it seems. According to my men, your wife appears to have the makings of a fine Sergeant Major, although I’d appreciate it if you could ask her to show them a little mercy in future.”</p>
<p>“She asked them to look for Miss Fisher’s plane?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think she was asking, but yes. And I thought telling my men to stay out of Phryne’s way would be enough to keep them out of whatever trouble she found out there. I should have remembered she doesn’t work alone these days. I’ll let you know when they radio in, if they’ve made contact, they’ll be sure to let me know.”</p>
<p>Compton surveyed the two policemen with the steady, inscrutable eyes of a man well used to being in command. It was a little like being stared down by Inspector Robinson, and as such, both men had been well trained for the moment.</p>
<p>“If it’s search and rescue you’re after, as I’ve said, my men are already out looking, but we will be losing light in a few hours and there’s no point trying to search bushland in the dark, not when we’ve no idea where they came down. We can mount a full operation first thing tomorrow if we don’t find anything tonight.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir. I’ll also need to interview the two pilots involved in the race once they return.”</p>
<p>Compton looked surprised at that, and a little wary.</p>
<p>“You suspect foul play?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know yet, sir. But Dottie does, and she’s on the ground in Sydney. There have been cases of sabotage at this base in the past, haven’t there?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Detective, I do remember, and the incident was years ago and entirely unrelated. I hope you are not implying my men could have been involved in anything of the kind. McTavish and Hastings weren’t even stationed here at the time.” It was Compton’s turn to bristle, and Hugh mentally kicked himself; he could probably have phrased that a little more diplomatically.</p>
<p>“Not at all, sir. It’s just routine, in case they saw anything suspicious.” Constable Martin chimed in, apparently unable to help himself.</p>
<p>“If they did you, can be sure they’ll let me know. Keep me informed of any further developments, Detective.”</p>
<p>It was a clear dismissal, and it did not escape Hugh’s notice that he had not agreed to the interview. This was not entirely a surprise, and without further grounds to insist, he decided that now was not the time to push the matter, not without more evidence to support Dottie’s sabotage theory.</p>
<p>He turned to leave, ushering Constable Martin out in front of him towards their waiting escort, and the Captain added in a gentler tone.</p>
<p>“Phryne’s a born pilot. If she was in the cockpit, you don’t need to worry about your Inspector. I’m sure we’ll find the two of them with nothing more than a cracked propeller and a tall tale to tell. I’ll have my best men on it, you can be sure of that.”</p>
<p>Hugh nodded, wishing he could believe it.</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir. I’m sure you’re right.”</p>
<p>To his credit, Martin made it all the way to the police motorcar and out of earshot of the base before giving Hugh the benefit of his opinion.</p>
<p>“If Miss Williams… sorry, I mean, your… Mrs Collins - if she thinks there’s something fishy going on, I believe her.”</p>
<p>Hugh scrutinised the man from the passenger seat, and not for the first time was confronted with a simultaneous feeling of pity for his subordinate, and a strong desire to punch him on the nose. Whatever torch the man had been holding for Dottie, three years and a happy marriage had apparently not been enough to extinguish it. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to answer civilly.</p>
<p>“My wife has good instincts, and she’s worked with Miss Fisher for years, but that’s not the same as evidence. We are going to need more than that if we want to conduct a proper investigation into the Air Force.”</p>
<p>“So, what will we do if the Group Captain won’t give us access?”</p>
<p>It was a fair question. Doing things his way was all well and good, and he was quietly pleased with the result so far – he had gone to the RAAF hoping to secure help in a rescue and had gotten it. Although, he suspected that it had helped that Dottie had gotten their first. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if this didn’t work, but whatever it was would likely be easier if he wasn’t fighting his Constable. He sought around for some common ground; they hadn’t worked together since his posting, but the Inspector had told him a little about the cases they worked whilst he was off fishing.</p>
<p>“Well, that will depend on how quickly they can find Miss Fisher. She was able to gain better access to the base than we were last time. If not, then we may have to take drastic measures.”</p>
<p>“Drastic measures?”</p>
<p>“Did you ever meet Miss Fisher’s aunt, Mrs Stanley?” Hugh asked, already knowing the answer.</p>
<p>Constable Martin’s eyes widened as he recalled the woman. Specifically, an incident in which she had threatened to strip naked in mixed company – company which included two police officers - in a successful attempt to remove an unwanted man from her property.</p>
<p>“I think we would all rather it didn’t come to that.”</p>
<p>Hugh smirked in agreement. It would be a cold day in Hell before he actually called upon the formidable society matron, but at least he could be satisfied in the knowledge that his constable was more scared of her than he was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fallen Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phryne plays nursemaid and the detectives make a disturbing discovery...(also they have sex in a tent).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on this fic! Real life has been kicking my butt but I will get around to replying to them all eventually I promise!</p>
<p>In the meantime have a little angsty Phracking, as a treat...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack woke to a splitting headache and the feel of rain on his face. He groaned and opened his eyes, to find Phryne leaning over him. She was very pale; her face, normally so impeccably made up, was grubby with dust, rain and tears smearing it into streaks.</p>
<p>“Jack? Jack, are you alright?”</p>
<p>It was such a rare thing, even after so many years of knowing her, for Phryne to show fear, but her voice was weak and the hand against his face was shaking. He brought his own up to cover it, blinking in an attempt to focus.</p>
<p>“Still alive. You?”</p>
<p>“A little bruised, but still airworthy. The plane’s not, though. I’m afraid we are out of the running as far as the race is concerned.” The palpable relief in her voice belied the flippancy of her words. She must have been really worried about him.</p>
<p>He wiped a hand across his face, which was becoming increasingly damp as the rain increased in volume; it came away bloody and he winced as the throbbing in his head was joined by a sharp stab where his fingers made contact with the wound.</p>
<p>“How long was I out?”</p>
<p>“Two very long minutes. Have I ever told you how intensely grateful I am for your hard head?”</p>
<p>He smiled weakly at the poor attempt at humour, but couldn’t cover up the shudder as the now driving rain found its way down the back of his neck.</p>
<p>“Can you walk? There are some emergency supplies in the hold, and we need to get out of this rain before we freeze to death.”</p>
<p>“I have no doubt you will find a way to keep me warm, Miss Fisher.”</p>
<p>The flirtation was by this point as much an autonomic response as the shivers now wracking his body, but it at least managed to raise a shaky smile from his partner. He stepped down a little gingerly from the plane, which was indeed in bad shape. Looking at the wrecked landing gear, snapped propellers, and damage to the nose, Jack thought it was a miracle that they had escaped with only a bang on the head between them. Phryne appeared to be entirely free of visible injuries and was busy dragging a tightly rolled tarpaulin from the storage compartment in the belly of the plane.</p>
<p>He hurried to help, waving off her objections in his desire to get warm and dry again. After a brief discussion, they decided to decamp to the wood they had narrowly missed on landing, the outskirts of which were only a few hundred yards distant. It took a couple of trips and a certain amount of creative swearing, but in a little under half an hour they had erected a makeshift bivouac. Phryne had climbed up to sling one tarpaulin over the low branch of a tree and Jack had added a second and a couple of blankets to the inside.</p>
<p>In other circumstances it could almost have been cosy.</p>
<p>Not wanting to bring the weather in with them, they folded their wet flight gear at the entrance and snuggled close between the blankets, the feel of skin against skin somehow more intimate in this huddled space surrounded by the sound of rain. Phryne had dug out a small first aid kit from the plane and set about cleaning and dressing Jack’s wound with a nurse’s skill. She even found a powder to treat his pounding head.</p>
<p>“Anyone would think you planned this, Miss Fisher. We seem remarkably well prepared for this predicament.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never been one to travel light, Inspector. I only wish I’d thought to bring a few spare parts. I might have been able to fix the plane.”</p>
<p>Jack doubted this very much; he’d seen the state it was in.</p>
<p>“I doubt even your legendary powers of persuasion could get that thing back in the air again. We must have sprung a fuel leak somehow. There’s no other way we could have used up so much, so quickly.”</p>
<p>Phryne gave a noncommittal hum, not wanting to voice her concerns until she could have a proper look at the engine. The fact was that she had checked it very thoroughly only the day before the race, along with Monty and a mechanic from the airfield, and as far as she could tell there had been nothing wrong with it. Once the rain let up, she intended to investigate the situation.</p>
<p>Right now, though, she was facing what was for her, a much more terrifying prospect than a mere attempt on her life.</p>
<p>“Jack... I’m sorry. This is all my fault; I should never have gotten us into this mess.”</p>
<p>“What have I told you about apologising, Miss Fisher?” he answered with a small smirk.</p>
<p>It did nothing to assuage the guilt that had been oozing through her since the crash. Since she had stood, perched on the wrecked remains of her aircraft, looking down at Jack’s bloody unconscious face as the sky darkened around them and the rain began to fall. It had felt like her whole world was collapsing in on her, threatening to bury her alive. She pressed her face into his warm shoulder, the rough, living scent of him acting on her like healing vapours.</p>
<p>“For a moment, I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost you and it was my fault.” The tears which had been kept at bay by the necessary work of securing their shelter and cleaning Jack’s wound cracked her voice, and she blinked them back, refusing to give in to a tragedy that might have been, when they were both alive and well.</p>
<p>Jack brushed her cheek, raising her face so she could see the sincerity in his eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m still here, Phryne, and as you rightly reminded me, I chose to take part in this race. I wanted to come, and I knew the risks when I signed up.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips and added “Just as I knew the risks of taking up with Phryne Fisher. A decision I’ve never had cause to regret.”</p>
<p>She smiled weakly at him, trying to let herself trust the truth in his words. If it had been her fault, if she had been reckless, she knew he respected her enough not to lie to her. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you find me halfway through a window in pursuit of evidence.”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes in mock tragedy as if cataloguing the many infuriating ways, she made his life more interesting.</p>
<p>“In my defence, I do have a head injury.”</p>
<p>She tried to smile, but the renewed pang of guilt at his words must have shown on his face because he moved at once to reassure her.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Phryne, it doesn’t even hurt anymore. You don’t have to worry about me.”</p>
<p>His expression was so fond and so full of understanding. This man who would follow her to the ends on the Earth if she asked it – and on more than one occasion had. They were already naked, a prudent precaution when two people were camping in the cold, and as she leaned in to kiss the smile from the corner of his mouth, she found herself burning with need. She needed him, in far more than just the physical sense. He had become a necessary feature of her life, it was one of the hardest things she had ever had to admit, and right now she also needed him to know it and needed to reassure herself that her single pillar was still standing.</p>
<p>She deepened the kiss, her hands fisting in his hair and raking down his back. For a man who had just been complaining of a head injury, Jack responded with impressive enthusiasm, he grasped her hip to pull her closer, fingers splayed over her buttocks, tongue licking into her mouth. Perhaps he, too, needed to remind himself that they were alive. Phryne reached down to stroke his cock to full hardness, loving the familiar contours of his much-loved flesh and the glazing of his eyes as she touched him. She had put in her Dutch cap before leaving in anticipation of a private victory celebration in Sydney, so lost no time in rolling him over and sinking onto him with a cry of relief before he had a chance to tease her.</p>
<p>She rode him hard and fast, and every time he filled her, the stretch of her cunt around him was another sweet catharsis. She covered him with her body, wanting the contact, the intimacy of feeling him warm and solid against her. Her hands fisted roughly in his hair as she kissed him forcefully, letting the taste of him chase away the metallic tang of fear. He was here, her steady, sure, beautiful Jack. He was here and he was still in step, not content even now to simply lie back and let her ravish him. His hips flexed beneath her as he thrust up in counter point to her movements, gripping her thighs so hard new bruises would soon join those left by the plane. She relished the thought, the physical evidence that he lived and moved in the world. She drew back just far enough to beg him for more, to fuck her harder, to come with her.</p>
<p>He pushed her back until she was sitting upright, the extra leverage letting them speed up their already frantic movements both so lost in each other they had all but forgotten the storm raging inches away through the thin tarpaulin. A crack of lightning illuminated the tent, picking out Jack’s face in bright white and stark shadows, the light and dark, an agony and ecstasy of perfect abandonment. And love. Always so much love. A heart so deep that sometimes it terrified her, even after all this time; the most precious gift she had ever been given. He leant up on his elbows to kiss the tears she had not noticed falling, but never slowed or faltered in his rhythm.</p>
<p>She gasped out that she loved him and felt his smile as he pressed rough kisses along her neck and jaw, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth. The pinch of his teeth pushed her over the edge and climax rushed through her, lights breaking out behind her eyes, her shout of his name swallowed by the storm still beating against the mountainside.</p>
<p>He tried to still her, to give her time to recover, but she wanted him with her; dizzy as she was from her own release, she needed to feel him let go, to drown in the delight of seeing him undone. She pressed his hands into the blankets on either side of his head, tilting her hips and squeezing until she felt him shudder, saw his clenched jaw relax into bliss. He pulled her close, gasping her name as he fought for breath, the rumble of his voice in her ear a resonant harmony, merging with the sound of distant thunder as it echoed off the hills.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When Jack woke again, the sun had just begun to turn the silvered shadows of the night into pale gold and rose. He was stiff and sore, although whether he could blame the plane crash or their evening activities for that, he couldn’t rightly say. His stomach rumbled irritably; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous day and it was catching up with him. They had packed sandwiches for the flight, but the storm had hit before they had gotten to them.</p>
<p>Phryne was still snoring softly on his shoulder, her normally animated face peaceful in sleep. He was loathe to wake her, but he wanted to investigate the plane and see if any provisions had survived. His attempts to extract himself without her noticing, however, were unsuccessful. She clung to him tight, burying her face in his neck and refused to let go. It was really rather flattering, that sort of thing could go to a man’s head if he let it. Luckily, Phryne was always willing to help maintain his humility and responded to his continued attempts to free himself by swearing grumpily at him and casting aspersions on his skills as a pillow.</p>
<p>He rolled her over and made a break for freedom, donning the shirt and trousers he’d worn under his flight suit, which was damp from the rain, and strolled over to the plane. Now that the storm had abated, he could fully appreciate the beauty of the place they had landed. The clump of trees where they had made their camp broke up as the shallow soil gave way to rocky scree, and the slope as he climbed towards the abandoned Swallow allowed him to see for miles, across a vast expanse of wilderness. There were huge meadows of wild grasses, tall peaks and woodland as far as the eye could see, with no sign of civilisation; it was a wild place, full of life, the clogging scent of dirty city air, replaced with something clear and clean. He could see the deep indigo waters of a lake not far off, and the rocky ground at his feet was strewn with tiny flowers; he recognised the alpine daisies and billy buttons (of the genus Craspedia) swaying in the early morning breeze like a sea of molten gold.</p>
<p>The plane, when he reached it, was a far less pleasant sight. In the growing light of morning the damage looked even worse than it had done the night before, but after a certain amount of rummaging he did at least manage to find the picnic basket. It was complete with a thermos of tea, which was now cold, and a mouth-watering selection of Mr Butler’s finest sandwiches. Jack munched one down at once, turning back towards the wood, thinking that Phryne too could probably use some sustenance. As it turned out, she was only a short way behind him and caught up quickly; she gave him a swift kiss by way of greeting and gratefully selected a sandwich, washing it down with a swig of cold tea. In the end they made quite a cheerful picnic of it, watching the light grow over the distant peaks. Phryne estimated that they must be somewhere in the Blue Mountains but could not be sure exactly where without consulting a map.</p>
<p>Once they were refreshed, they returned to the plane for a closer investigation of the damage. Phryne quickly declared the radio to be a lost cause. It was a worry for sure, they were stranded with no means of calling for help. Jack, however, knew his partner well and could tell from the slight furrow in her brow that she was waiting for another shoe to drop.</p>
<p>And drop it did.</p>
<p>“Jack, look at this.” She pointed to the exposed fuel tank, which she had managed to uncover with some difficulty thanks to the state of the plane. “This hole, here, this is what caused the fuel leak.”</p>
<p>The hole was quite small, but clearly visible and far too neat to have been the result of metal fatigue. He had thought initially that the fuel tank was painted in a cheerful cherry red, but now Phryne had drawn is attention to it, Jack realised that the thick, sticky-looking substance had dripped from the tank and the inner casing of the engine was specked as if with blood splatter. He reached out to touch it, looking back at Phryne with a questioning glance. She knew much more about the workings of this aircraft than he did.</p>
<p>“Sealing wax?”</p>
<p>She nodded. “Someone made this hole, then blocked it with enough wax to ensure it wouldn’t start leaking until we had been in the air for a good long while and the engine had time to fully heat up and melt it all.”</p>
<p>“You’re saying someone tried to kill us?”</p>
<p>“Or strand us out here. Perhaps one of our rivals was more desperate for victory than we thought.”</p>
<p>“And the radio?”</p>
<p>“Hard to say, most of the damage looks like it happened on impact, but these wires here could have been deliberately frayed.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded, considering the matter. It was far from the first time their lives had been threatened, and he was not about to lose his head over it, although he tried not to smile at the frisson of excitement he could hear in Phryne’s voice. The thrill of a mystery easily trumping the fear of an unknown assassin.</p>
<p>“In that case, Miss Fisher, perhaps we should decamp a little further into the bush for the time being? If someone decides to come after us, it would be nice to know in advance if they are friend or foe.”</p>
<p>She nodded in agreement, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good idea, Inspector. I suggest we make for the lake. I could use a dip to wash off all this dust, and I have it on good authority that you forgot to bring your bathing suit.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OK I admit the sealing wax thing probably doesn't hold up to scientific scrutiny but as cannon includes a door handle that stays magnetised for days and a magic emerald the size of a deflated rugby ball I'm going to ask you all to just go with it 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. More Than Meets the Eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dot and Ada follow up on their suspicions about Lord Monty...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dot asked the taxi to direct them to the closest police station. She doubted that their vague suspicions would be enough to open an investigation into possible sabotage, but a missing person’s report seemed like a good place to start. Having met her fair share of policemen since she started working with Miss Fisher, Mrs Collins was slightly curious to see how the New South Wales Constabulary compared to those at City South.</p><p>Her hopes of being able to contact Hugh directly rather than waiting for him to respond to a telegram were dashed moments after meeting Junior Sergeant Hennelly, who turned out to be exactly the wrong mixture of lazy and condescending. He also had chip on his shoulder you could hollow out and store an aeroplane in.</p><p>“Missing persons in Victoria is out of our jurisdiction. Nothing we can do about it here; you’ll have to report it in Victoria.” He glowered at them both, reserving a special sneer for Ada, whose well-tailored trousers and flight scarf appeared to offend him almost as much as her English accent.</p><p>“We have no way of knowing what happened to them or where they are! From what the other pilots have reported they, would have been within New South Wales when the bad weather hit.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll just jump in the police aeroplane and go and look for them, then,” he added sarcastically. Dot made to argue but he cut her off. “If they were last seen in Victoria, that’s where it needs reporting. I don’t get paid enough to do their work for them.”</p><p>Dot did not miss the hint that the man might be looking for a bribe, but chose to ignore it. If that was how the police operated in Sydney, they were unlikely to be of any use anyway. She felt a warm glow of pride at the certainty that her Hugh would never have behaved so poorly, not even as a cadet.</p><p>“In that case, Sergeant, may I use your telephone? My husband is currently in command of Melbourne City South, and he will want to know what has happened to Inspector Robinson.”</p><p>The name drop did not work. Hennelly looked momentarily worried, but apparently ‘stupidity’ could also be added to his list of questionable accomplishments because, the look morphed quickly into an unpleasantly smug smile.</p><p>“This is a police station, madam. We do not operate a free public telephone service.”</p><p>Dot was about to argue with him, but Ada took her arm.</p><p>“Thank you for your help, Sergeant, it’s been most illuminating,” she added in a voice that oozed sarcasm like an open wound.</p><p>Dot slammed the door in frustration as they left, her pretty face pink with rage.</p><p>“How can anyone be that awful and keep his badge? How could he just not care that a fellow officer could be hurt?”</p><p>She was so angry that if Miss Fellows hadn’t been there, she might have marched right back in and given the man a piece of her mind, a fact which did not escape her companion’s notice. On the few occasions she had met Mrs Collins before, Ada had concluded that the woman was sweet but something of a mouse; the last few hours had gone a long way to changing her opinion. Frankly, she had only begun tagging along because she thought Mac would have wanted her to, providing comfort to weeping women was not normally her style at all. Having seen her in action, she had fast concluded that there was a lot more to Dot Collins than met the eye. No wonder Phryne relied on her so implicitly. Still, even she drew the line at getting them both arrested so early in their investigation.</p><p>“I’ve met men like him before, old girl. Good-for-nothing waste of time and energy stuffed into a uniform. You won’t get his help unless you’re willing to bribe him - and if you argue too much, you’ll get a night in the cells for your trouble.”</p><p>Dot sighed, wrenching her mind away from thoughts of entirely unchristian vengeance.</p><p>“You’re right. We need to find a telegraph office so I can contact Hugh. I think we passed one up on the left, next to the bakery.”</p><p>As it turned out, the telegraph office did operate a public payphone. Unfortunately, that too proved to be a dead end. This time, however, the person on the other side of the counter was much more sympathetic.</p><p>“Sorry madam, the line’s been down for nearly an hour; bad weather out west apparently. Best you can do is write up a telegram and leave it with us,” explained the harassed young woman, whose blonde hair had begun to escape from its tight bun where she kept tugging at it in her agitation. To the irritation of some of the other customers, she at least agreed to prioritise sending their message as soon as the lines were restored.</p><p>Dot was feeling increasingly agitated, and there was a twisting sickness in her belly that she tried hard not to show. She needed to keep busy. As soon as she stopped, or slowed down, the spiral of horrible thoughts and images would rise-up and overwhelm her again, just like they had done at the airfield.</p><p>Given it was their only lead, she suggested that they head back to try and find Lord Montgomery. His desire to throw the race was the only evidence hinting at anything more serious than bad weather, and if he was willing to let them use his plane, perhaps she and Ada could join in the search and rescue attempt. Sitting around and doing nothing was simply not an option. Not when Miss Phryne was in trouble.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time they arrived back at the airfield, the party, which had been bustling when they left, had advanced to raucous. The general feeling amongst the attendees was that the missing pilots would be found sooner or later. A few overheard snatches of conversation suggested that Lord Monty had been hard at work reassuring everyone that there was nothing to worry about, and through a combination of rank, charm and his reputation as highly skilled pilot, he had managed to keep a lid on any incipient panic and avoid awkward questions about the lack of a coherent rescue plan in the event of an accident.</p><p>It took some time to find him amidst the crowd, but eventually they made their way through the throng to the area that had been cordoned off for the participants and other important guests. Various small chairs and tables had been laid out so that the celebrations could continue into the night, and Monty was sprawled out in one chair with his feet up on another, clearly the worse for drink. He was in the middle of a small gaggle of admirers, none of whom seemed bothered by the man’s excess.</p><p>“Ahh, Ada, my love. Such beauty. Such talent. The gods would weep…” he attempted to pick up his glass of champagne from the table, missed, squinted, succeeded on a second attempt and raised it in salute. “And Miss… Mrs… Mrs Collins. So very good to see you as well. Come to give me another scolding, have you?”</p><p>Dot felt Ada stiffen beside her and nudged her companion in the ribs. They needed to keep him talking, and he wouldn’t be able to do that minus a not-so-vital organ. Luckily, the look on Miss Fellows’ face appeared to penetrate even the thick fog of alcohol clouding Monty’s brain, and he had enough sense left to switch his attention to Dot and call in reinforcements. He gave her what he appeared to think was a roguish wink and turned to the onlookers.</p><p>“Don’t let her fool you, boys. She’s a lil’…lil’… a Spitfire this one. Learned from the best.”</p><p>“If you mean Miss Phryne, yes I did. That’s who we want to talk to you about.”</p><p>“Oh, no need to worry, my dear. Nothing to fear. They’ll pick her up tomorrow totally fine. Bloody good chaps, those Air Force blokes. Us Flyboys stick together, what! Knew they’d step up ’f’anything went wrong.” His attempt at reassurance would have been more convincing if it had been less slurred, and on the word ‘wrong’, his face appeared to catch up with his train of thought, sagging from jolly drunk into morose. When he continued, he appeared to be speaking more to himself than to anyone else and the circle of men surrounding him suddenly became very interested in their drinks.</p><p>“Of course, if she’d been flying with me, there would have been none of this trouble. No. None! We were something special back in our day. <em>Very</em> special. Don’t know what she was thinking, marrying that cold fish of a policeman. Couldn’t believe it when she told me. Woman like that needs a man with blood in his veins, not some two-bit civil servant.”</p><p>“Inspector Robinson is a very good pilot and a good man,” Dot replied indignantly, but Monty appeared not to have heard her. The small circle of onlookers began loudly discussing the more manly subjects of jet propulsion and football and subtly edging away in embarrassment.</p><p>“Good man? Good?! What’s good to Phryne Fisher? Force of bloody nature! She said she never wanted it. Told me to my face. Not the marrying kind, she said. Then she turns up with this fella - no money, no connections. What’s he got on her? Something fishy going on there, I tell you.”</p><p>He took another large gulp of champagne and snorted it out of his nose.</p><p>“Gahh! Fishy Fisher.” He tittered slightly then began to sob. “I’d never beaten her before, you know. S’not as good as I imagined. Should’a known. Lost, lost everything now…”</p><p>“If you’re worried, why aren’t you out there looking for her?” Ada asked, hoping to cajole him into a further explanation of why he had attempted to let Miss Fisher win, seeing as he was in such a talkative mood.</p><p>“S’no point, s’all over now. No point. She chose the ol’ stick in the mud. Nothin’ to be done now. I’ll find my fortune else… elsewise.”</p><p>There was a great deal more that Dot could have said on that subject, and her already low opinion of the man had now fully plummeted. She was furious at him - for his entitlement, his uselessness and utter lack of compassion; no wonder Miss Phryne had thrown him over.</p><p>If he had been in love with her and resentful at how they had parted, that might be enough to explain his wavering attitude towards race fixing, but sabotage? <em>Murder?</em> She shuddered at the thought. It had been scratching at the inside of her head for hours, Miss Fisher and the Inspector had made a great many enemies since she had known them, and probably many more before that. If the man in front of her was in any way responsible, she vowed silently that she would be the one to make him pay.</p><p>Some of what she was thinking clearly showed on her face, because Ada was looking at her with concern. She didn’t comment though, choosing instead to turn back to Monty before the man lost consciousness. The seats around him had been vacated as the crowd of admirers had edged away, less interested in his lovelorn ramblings than his tales of derring-do. Ada took the space next to him, leaning over conspiratorially to whisper in his ear.</p><p>“Is that why you asked me to throw the race, old boy? From what I hear, you’re far from the only one to lose your heart to Miss Fisher?”</p><p>He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.</p><p>“I always let her win. Back in th’ old days. I always…” he broke off, rose quickly, tripped over his own feet and vomited spectacularly in a heap on the ground.</p><p>Ada called over a few of the men to help him - who did not look very keen on the task - and pulled Dot away towards the relative safety of the pavilion.</p><p>“Sorry about that, you were looking a bit pale and there’s nothing like that smell to bring your supper back up.”</p><p>Dot tried to argue, but in all honesty, Ava was right – although now she thought about it, she hadn’t actually eaten any supper, or anything at all since breakfast, she’d been too worried about Miss Phryne. Her breath was coming faster again, and she was finding it harder and harder to fight back the awful thoughts spinning through her mind. She sat down heavily on the first available seat and took the glass of sherry Ava had grabbed from a passing waiter. She downed it in one gulp, the sharp burn as it hit the back of her throat steadied her but did nothing for her stomach, which lurched. She was angry. It would come as a surprise to many that thought they knew her, but Dot was often angry. The world was full of evil and stupidity and sometimes the weight of it felt like a crushing stone bearing down on her chest. Those were the times she prayed the hardest and God, in his Mercy, could usually be counted upon to lift the weight and let her breathe.</p><p>This could well have been one of those times if He – or more likely the Devil – hadn’t chosen that moment to test her patience.</p><p>“I always knew that stuck-up bint would come to a sticky end. Can’t say I’m sorry.”</p><p>It was Fredrick Burn.</p><p>Dot’s neck snapped around to look at him; she felt none of the fear she had felt on the train. Not now. Not when he might be right. Ava actually took a step back at the look on her face. She had heard the man, but hadn’t expected the response. If anything, she had been expecting long overdue tears from her companion. It had been a long day and Dot had been looking peaky since she found her outside the pavilion. She was not entirely wrong; there were tears shining in Dot’s eyes as she rose and advanced on the unfortunate man, but they were tears of rage and fury.</p><p>
  <em>Thwack!</em>
</p><p>It wasn’t a ladylike slap across the face but a full knuckle punch with all her weight behind it. Hugh had taught her a few things in passing, almost as a joke, neither of them ever imagining her using them in anger. Burn had not been expecting it and he dropped to the floor in a heap, clutching his jaw, eyes wide in pain and shock.</p><p>“How dare you?! You horrible, little man. How <em>dare</em> you?”</p><p>The tears were flowing freely down Dot’s cheeks, her normally soft features twisted up in anguish. She didn’t stop; her feet in their sensible brown shoes worked of their own accord, delivering a swift kick to his stomach without asking permission of her brain.</p><p>“What the bloody hell do ya’ think you’re doing? Someone get this mad Sheila off me!” he choked out, wheezing.</p><p>Ava obliged, not wanting to complicate matters with an assault charge.</p><p>“She’s not dead. She’s not. She can’t be.”</p><p>Burn scuttled back on two legs like an overgrown crab, no trace of the smugness that normally adorned his features.</p><p>“Don’t blame me just because your Miss Fisher wasn’t the pilot she made herself out to be. S’not my fault she’s gone and gotten herself killed.”</p><p>“She hasn’t! Take it back!”</p><p>She would have advanced on the man again if Ada hadn’t been holding her, and if her limbs hadn’t begun to feel so weak. It was getting harder and harder to breathe again, and she could feel a chill spreading through her, her vision blurring. Her thoughts were muddled, her head full of screaming. Ada had left her side and she staggered, reaching out to steady herself against a tent pole.</p><p>Her friend had picked something up off the ground and was gesturing angrily at Burn, but the sound of their voices was getting fainter and fainter. Dot thought she saw Burn snatch whatever it was and run before the world descended into fog and she sank slowly to the floor of the pavilion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No offence to the Sydney PD - I just wanted a reason for Dot to feel smugly proud of her husband because Hottie are the cutest (except for Phrack).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Blurred at the Edges</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Hugh puts his adorable blush to good use and Neville is a complete wanker...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not wanting to stay idle whilst waiting for news, Hugh drove towards the airfield. The main event was long since over, but some people would have had to remain to take down the pavilion and restore the airfield to working order after so many visitors.</p>
<p>“We need to talk to the mechanics and anyone else we can find. See if we can establish alibies for the other race contestants.”</p>
<p>“You think one of them might be involved?” Martin asked, jotting the order down in his notebook.</p>
<p>“If Dottie’s right and there was foul play, the other contestants would have a motive.”</p>
<p>“Seems a bit drastic, just to win an air race, and wasn’t one of the competitors funding the whole thing? Can’t see him wanting to muck up his whole race.”</p>
<p>Hugh privately agreed, but the belligerence in the other man’s tone irked him too much to let it show.</p>
<p>“Just see what you can find out, Constable. Talk to the mechanics, find out who might have had the opportunity to interfere with the planes. I’ll nose around, see if anyone saw anything suspicious before the race started.”</p>
<p>Constable Martin flinched slightly at the pointed mention of his rank but made no further protest. Hugh pulled up next to the hangar and parked the motorcar, Martin exited the vehicle as quickly as he could, strapping his helmet firmly to his head, and stalking off inside without another word.</p>
<p>Hugh left him to it; the longer the situation went on the more worried he was getting about the fate of his two friends, and he didn’t need an insubordinate constable making things more difficult. He squared his shoulders inside his overcoat, wishing he could ask Jack for his advice and feeling a little lost. The Inspector was a good man, and had become a good friend to Hugh as well as a mentor. He was also far more used to weathering the disapproval of others than Hugh was. Hugh tended to get along with people. It was something you could use to your advantage as a copper, he knew, and where Jack liked to project an air of stern authority, Hugh preferred to be everyone’s best mate, right up until they slipped up and incriminated themselves.</p>
<p>Despite a little rancour over his friendship with the boss, he tended to get along well with the other officers as well. If only it had been anyone but bloody Martin who had walked in with that telegram...</p>
<p>He shook himself out of his reverie, slamming the car door a little harder than was strictly necessary and made his way towards the spot where a large pavilion was still dispensing food and drink to the remaining onlookers. It was well past 6-o-clock, and a brief sniff at the entrance brought the tang of booze with it, apparently someone was selling sly grog.</p>
<p>Hugh was not especially keen on the 6pm liquor laws, not least because they were so rarely adhered to. The Inspector said that any law that was almost universally broken by otherwise honest people tended to reduce the overall respect for all law – something of a problem for a police officer. What it did provide was leverage; people tended to worry that their minor transgressions would be their undoing, which made them more cooperative when it came to volunteering useful information about major ones. At least as long as they were not implicated in those as well.</p>
<p>The contrast from bright sun to the stuffy gloom of the tent made him blink for a second as he cast around for a likely source of information. There was a small crowd around the bar. Barkeepers were known to talk, especially if they thought they could avoid charges for sly grog, but this one was busy, and the disruption would likely draw attention. Without any firm evidence to justify his inquiries he was not keen to throw his authority around until he could be sure he was throwing it in the right direction.</p>
<p>Further investigation of the remaining patrons turned up a more subtle option; a group of young women, all in flight scarves that looked somewhat similar to the kind Miss Fisher wore. They were drinking glasses of ‘lemonade’ which almost certainly contained alcohol and surrounded by a cloud of blue-grey cigarette smoke. The flight scarves would be an affectation he was sure; Miss Fisher had made something of an impression on the young women of Melbourne, and these looked as if they might have come to see her off. With any luck at least one of them would share their idol’s keen sense of observation.</p>
<p>“Not drinking I hope, ladies?” he asked with what he hoped was a disarming smile.</p>
<p>“Why, are you a cop?” a pretty blonde woman in dark blue cloche and matching scarf asked. She took a pointed swig of her drink that was practically a confession.</p>
<p>“Detective,” he replied, flashing his warrant card. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the race. There have been reports of suspicious activity in the area.”</p>
<p>“Suspicious activity? That sounds exciting!” A second woman, whose bright copper curls were a little too red to be entirely natural, flashed a smile at him.</p>
<p>Hugh had learned a lot in his time at City South, and he was no longer the bashful young man he had been. He was a married man and had seen enough on the job not to lose his head over every pretty girl he met across an interview table; there were, however, some things a man could not control.</p>
<p>“Oh, he’s a blusher! Carol, you made him blush!” exclaimed one of the two brunettes. She was slim, even by the fashionable standards of the day, and had a touch of sunburn on the tip of her nose. She appeared absolutely delighted by the idea - so, rather than sink into the tempting mortification, Detective Collins pressed the advantage.</p>
<p>“Anything you can tell me would be a great help.” He looked down at his neatly polished shoes, then back up, catching the eye of the fourth member of the group. Her hair was lighter than her companions’, similar to Dot’s, and her eyes were a bright, curious shade of green.</p>
<p>“What would you like to know, Detective?” She seemed somewhat more sober than her friends and her response more serious.</p>
<p>“For starters, what can you tell me about the contestants? Did you see any of them arrive?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, all of them. We’ve been here since this morning. No news yet on who won, though. Has something gone wrong?”</p>
<p>“One of the planes failed to make it to Sydney. Probably a delay due to bad weather, but we’re checking up on it just in case.”</p>
<p>“Oh, how awful. Who’s gone missing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Once they had discovered that it was Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson who had gone missing, the women appeared more than ready to assist. In fact, it appeared that the Inspector was something of a favourite amongst Miss Fisher’s admirers. The word ‘dashing’ was mentioned more than once, something which Hugh hoped he would be able to pass on to his mentor over a pint the next time Jack had one of his occasional attacks of pomposity; he was fairly sure the Inspector would find the whole idea deeply embarrassing. The two detectives had only been missing a few hours, but the creeping possibility that they might not be found was gnawing on the raw edges of Hugh’s mind.</p>
<p>He knew the loss of Miss Fisher would devastate Dottie, and he worried for his wife, but he had not been prepared for the empty feeling at the thought of never seeing his mentor again. The Inspector, who had taken him under his wing and taught him so much; the man who had stuck his neck out to get him promoted, the friend who had helped him when he thought Dot might leave him for good, and who had provided a sympathetic ear when the children he had hoped so hard for had failed to appear. He shook the feeling off. All he could do was follow the leads wherever they led and hope that Captain Compton’s men had found something.</p>
<p>He looked down at his notebook, flipping through several pages of neatly printed longhand to where he had listed his suspects.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Squadron Leader McTavish and Flight Lt Hastings</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Motive: Win race</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Relationship with JR/PF: Unknown/none – check details from Manning case </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Alibi: Seen by multiple witnesses throughout the morning, plane serviced outside of hangar, did not enter until other contestants already inside.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Reginald Wilson aka Reggo and William Buckley aka Billy Whiskers</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Motive: Win race</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Relationship with JR/PF: Both knew PF as a child, occasional visitors at Wardlow, like Dottie’s biscuits!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Alibi: Arrived last of all contestants. Multiple witnesses saw them in the beer tent before take-off. Possible access to airfield out of hours?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">Lord Edwin Montgomery and Miss Ada Fellows</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Motive: Win race – EM unlikely to sabotage own race?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Relationship with JR/PF: EM old friend of PF met JR at charity function last month. Race organiser invited JR/PF to participate. AF new member of PF Adventuresses’ Club according to witnesses – check club register.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Alibi: EM here all morning. Seen around but long periods unaccounted for by remaining spectators. AF dropped off in motorcar by woman with red hair matching description Dr Mac shortly before race began – check alibi.</em>
</p>
<p>Apart from a possible desire to win the race, he couldn’t see any good reason for any of them to sabotage the detectives’ plane. Could that really be enough to risk a possible murder charge? It seemed unlikely, but still he couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing that happened around Miss Fisher was ever a coincidence. Perhaps he was fooling himself. Looking for clues and evidence where there was none to be found - but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the simplest explanation. Accident seemed too banal a fate, given the number of adventures they had survived.</p>
<p>Hugh leant against the police motorcar, mulling over his list. It helped to have something to focus on, something to stop himself from dwelling on the possible unpleasant things that might have befallen his two friends. Perversely, he found himself wishing for their insight – Miss Fisher especially was always quick to spot connections where other people didn’t, and there was no-one like the Inspector when it came to working a case till it was done.</p>
<p>What he had instead was Constable Martin, who rushed up to the car looking exceptionally pleased with himself and gesturing for Hugh to get inside. Hugh was not entirely happy about being ushered into the vehicle by his subordinate, but as the man appeared to have something on his mind, he acquiesced, getting into the driver’s side to listen.</p>
<p>“We should head back to the station, Sir.” The Constable’s keenness appeared to have temporarily overridden his discomfort at acknowledging Hugh’s rank. “We need to get hold of the New South Wales Police and have them bring in Reggie Jeffries and William Buckley.”</p>
<p>The earnestness of the statement came as a surprise after Hugh’s own mixed results, especially as the two men had pretty solid alibies for the day in question but he was trying his hardest to be the bigger man and not to let his personal dislike get in the way of the job.</p>
<p>“Alright, Constable.” He started the engine and sped off towards the station. “You can explain on the way.”</p>
<p>The smugness radiating from the passenger seat did nothing to endear Hugh to the man sitting in it, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to listen.</p>
<p>“I interviewed all the mechanics, like you asked,” he began, clearly intent on spinning this out. “Miss Fisher’s plane was locked in the hangar until the planes were wheeled out before the beginning of the race. It was checked by herself and a mechanic the night before the race and no one was allowed in or out once the place was locked up for the night. That was one of Lord Montgomery’s rules. But, Reggo and Whiskers – that’s Jeffries and Buckley – were there too. They left at the same time as the mechanics.”</p>
<p>“And you think they snuck back to sabotage the plane? Why?” Hugh was genuinely mystified; it was a long leap from being seen near the hangar and sabotaging a plane.</p>
<p>“Because of what one of the mechanics saw them doing.”</p>
<p>“And that was?” Hugh tried his hardest to channel the seemingly endless patience Inspector Robinson would have shown.</p>
<p>“He was outside the hangar and he saw them <em>kissing!</em> Bold as brass he said.”</p>
<p>Hugh waited, glancing over at Martin’s eager face to see if he had anything to add. Apparently, he did not. He counted to ten.</p>
<p>“Why would that give them reason to sabotage Miss Fisher’s plane?”</p>
<p>Neville Martin gave his superior a look normally reserved for the hard of thinking.</p>
<p>“If Inspector Robinson found out they were a couple of nancies, he’d have them arrested. Could be they wanted to get him out of the way.”</p>
<p>It was an awkward moment to pray for patience, given the Catholic Church’s attitude towards sodomy, but Hugh did his best anyway. If God, in his infinite wisdom, could see his way to dispensing mercy all round, then perhaps he could get through this day without breaking his constable’s nose.</p>
<p>“Not without strong evidence. The Inspector does it by the book, you know that.”</p>
<p>It was a carefully constructed sentence. Hugh had worked with Jack long enough to know that his boss would bend that kind of law to breaking point if he could help it. It was not something he was entirely comfortable with himself – but, then again, he’d looked the other way over sly grog less than an hour ago. Sometimes the line between justice and law could blur a little at the edges. Providing you had a copper who knew his business – and Jack Robinson knew it better than anyone else.</p>
<p>The Constable’s face fell, Hugh’s tepid reception to his information grating against the unspoken personal and professional grievances that stood between them. Not wanting to dismiss the idea entirely and resigned to the fact that he had to work with the man, Hugh tried to appease him.</p>
<p>“We can’t overlook it as a possible motive, but I don’t want to drag a whole other police force into this case before we know we have one. Compton’s pilots should have news for us in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I’ll ask Dottie to ask some questions up in Sydney.”</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the mention of Dot on top of him pulling rank was the final straw, and the anger and resentment Neville Martin had been nursing for years burst out in one simple, devastating sentence.</p>
<p>“You know a real man would never let his wife get mixed up with those sorts of people; she’d have been better off sticking with me!”</p>
<p>Hugh was a good man and a good police officer, and it took a lot to rile him. There were very few things which could have wrenched his mind away from the search to find his friends - the possibility of Dot’s infidelity however was one of them. Not least because he had cause to wonder, as year after childless year went by, if Dottie might not have been better off with some other man. Someone who could give her the family she wanted so badly.</p>
<p>“What did you say about my wife?”</p>
<p>“I said she’d be better off with a real man, instead of a coward who would run off and leave her. Maybe you should ask her about what happened when you were off fishing – and what would have happened if you hadn’t ruined it all by coming back.”</p>
<p>Hugh stopped the car by the roadside with a squeal of brakes. They were almost at the station by now, the overcast sky began to spatter fat raindrops against the windscreen.</p>
<p>“Get out.” Hugh’s voice was cold with anger, his muscles tensed with the effort of keeping still. Of not rending the little shit next to him in two for daring to say such things.</p>
<p>Neville didn’t move, stuck like a rabbit in headlights, pinned to his seat.</p>
<p>“I said, GET OUT!” Hugh roared, the swing that he dearly wanted to aim at the man’s head hitting the steering wheel instead, bloodying his knuckles.</p>
<p>Martin opened the door in a swift movement and bolted, his constable’s helmet and notebook abandoned on the passenger seat. Hugh sat for a long time staring out at the rain, then drove home, pulled out the bottle of brandy Dot kept in the kitchen cupboard, and drank himself to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Bushtucker Trials</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stuck out in the bush without any means to investigate leaves Phryne and Jack tetchy and in the mood for an argument, thankfully they find a very satisfying way to reconcile their differences...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lake was beautiful in the early morning light, but Phryne’s initial hopes of a romantic adventure were not to be. The distance from the top of the bank of scree was further than it looked, especially when carrying two tarpaulins, the emergency blankets, and as many supplies from the plane as could be salvaged. By the time they had arrived, found an appropriate tree to pitch their ‘tent’, set up camp and were finally able to even consider a dip in the lake, they were both sweaty and exhausted.</p>
<p>The lake was crystal clear, and mercifully free of any menacing wildlife; sadly, it was also freezing cold, and a quick and rather utilitarian wash was all they could manage before returning to shore. Once there they were forced to use the cleanest remaining parts of their flight clothes to dry off before rummaging in the luggage for a change.</p>
<p>Phryne had sent most of their things on the train with Dot, but, not wanting to be caught short in case of a delay, had decided on a whim to pack eveningwear for the victory party into the plane. It was a little singed, and there was a large rip in the skirt of Phryne’s dress, but apart from that it was intact. Which was how they ended up stranded, cold, hungry and miles from civilisation, in a full dinner suit and satin embroidered evening gown.</p>
<p>The clothes were not exactly designed for comfort at the best of times, and Phryne’s fur – which would have been a godsend in the bush – had been too bulky to pack and had thus travelled with Dot. Her dress, which at any other time would have had Jack scheming to get her away from whatever adoring crowd surrounded her, was hardly better than sitting on the grass in nothing but her skin. He wrapped his jacket tenderly around her shoulders, willing the sun to rise sufficiently to warm them and tried very hard to remember that – as he had pointed out sincerely the night before – he had known what he was getting into when he had signed up for this race.</p>
<p>Phryne was glaring at the light sparkling off of the lake as if it had personally offended her, but Jack could tell she wasn’t really looking at it.</p>
<p>“Somebody wanted us dead, Jack.”</p>
<p>“Well, one of us at least,” he agreed. “Unless they just wanted us out of the race. If they wanted us dead, they could have rigged the engine to explode as soon as we took off.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps. But that would have led to questions, an investigation. I doubt the race would have gone ahead if the sabotage was that obvious. With us all the way out here, we could just have hit a spot of bad weather.”</p>
<p>“We did,” he pointed out.</p>
<p>“Well, yes, quite; but it wouldn’t have been a problem if we’d had a full tank of fuel. I could have outrun that storm easily.”</p>
<p>Jack grunted noncommittally; he didn’t intend it as a slight on her flying skills, more an indication that he was ruminating on who amongst their various enemies might have the means to attempt such a technically adept murder. Unfortunately, Phryne was feeling somewhat prickly on the subject of her aeronautical abilities. She would never admit it, but the Swallow Moth - <em>their </em>Swallow Moth -  held a rather sentimental spot in her heart, and it was wretched to see the thing in pieces. It didn’t help that whoever had destroyed her beloved plane was miles away and likely laughing at their success, with her powerless to bring them to justice.</p>
<p>“Well, I’d like to see you do better, Jack Robinson,” she snapped, rising and stalking away from him whilst he was still trying to work out what he’d done.</p>
<p>A flash of anger hit him. He was far from blaming her for their current predicament, but that didn’t mean he was going to volunteer as the punching bag on which she could vent her frustrations.</p>
<p>“And I’d like to see you do better when it comes to your choice in ‘old friends’! I’m certain this isn’t the first time one of them’s tried to kill you!”</p>
<p>He realised what he had said a second too late; he hadn’t been thinking in specific terms, but Phryne was more than aware of exactly which one of her former lovers had wanted her dead. Her face went pale with anger, and he thought for a moment she might hit him. He’d probably deserve it.</p>
<p>“Well, if we manage to get out of here, I shall be sure to choose my lovers more wisely in future,” she spat.</p>
<p>Turning on her heel, she pointedly cast aside his coat aside in a violent gesture clearly intended to demonstrate her total lack of need for any male support she had not expressly asked for. Ignoring his stammered apologies entirely, she paused briefly to collect her pistol from her case, loaded it, then stalked off into the bush, leaving Jack alone save for the soft call of birds in the undergrowth.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>There were many excellent things that could be said about Phryne’s dress. It was in many ways a masterpiece, the kind of artistic endeavour which – as it was made and commissioned by women – was unlikely to find itself showcased in the Louvre, but a masterpiece nonetheless. The skirt stretched to her ankles in a figure-hugging emerald green satin that left just enough to the imagination. The bodice dipped low in soft folds designed to draw the mind’s eye to what lay beneath. At the front, a crossed bodice of forest green lace, accented with tiny flashes of gold created the perfect marriage between the simple and the sublime.</p>
<p>The only thing about it which could be considered useful in her current situation was the colour; green at least would not show up unduly in a wood. Tragic as the damage to the garment was, the rip up the side did afford her greater mobility, so she was able to slip through the trees without being held up by her skirt.</p>
<p>
  <em>She won’t be going anywhere, not in that skirt.</em>
</p>
<p>A flicker of memory from long ago - a time before Jack had learned to trust her and her judgement. The time when he had met Rene Dubois.</p>
<p>Logically she knew he hadn’t meant it. That he’d responded in frustration, his mind a long way from a man who had been dead for years and could not possibly be responsible for their current predicament. He had the luxury of being able to forget. She did not. And she burned with anger at him, for having the temerity to enjoy a luxury she could not afford.</p>
<p>She had not wanted to bother with the divine pair of gold heels she had brought to match her dress; the soft ground by the lake would have ruined them, and after her fight with Jack, she had stormed off before attempting the somewhat lengthy process of lacing up her flight boots. Her bare feet were all but silent as she slipped through the leaf litter, the small splayed branches of the blue gums casting deep shadows in the morning light.</p>
<p>She moved with purpose; the sandwiches from the plane had not been enough to sustain her and she was armed and hungry. Somewhere around here there would be something edible. She could hear the call of birds in the trees and the occasional scutter in the undergrowth, but nothing close enough for a pistol shot. The handgun was far from an ideal hunting weapon, especially for a ranged shot and her supply of ammunition was limited.</p>
<p>Much as she was not in the mood to give Jack credit for anything whatsoever just now, he had been right about one thing: someone was trying to kill them. Eventually, she was sure they would be found out here, but they could not be certain that whoever found them intended rescue rather than murder. She would need her bullets.</p>
<p>She was distracted enough by thoughts of human adversaries that the ambushing spider caught her by surprise when it brazenly ran right across her naked foot. She screamed and backed away in horror as the foul creature scuttled off under a bush. Without thinking, she took a shot at it - a terrible waste of precious ammo - which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The pistol crack startled a jack rabbit that had been hiding only feet from her in the undergrowth, and her second shot secured them a good meal.</p>
<p>Still shuddering with excess adrenaline, she collected the poor beast by the ears, thankful that at least it hadn’t suffered. The things were a menace she knew, so prolific and destructive that successive states had attempted to build enormous fences to keeps them out of farmland and off of people’s crops. It had never worked. Something she knew all too well. Not only were the things agile enough to get over and under the fence whenever they pleased, by the time the problem was recognised, it was already much too late. The damn things were already on both sides of the barrier and there was no hope of keeping them out.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes briefly, sighing in resignation and began to make her way back to camp.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack found her about halfway between their camp and the place she’d shot the rabbit; he was out of breath and clearly worried.</p>
<p>“I heard gunshots, are you alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Jack.” She held up the rabbit - part evidence, part peace offering. “I found us some lunch.”</p>
<p>He nodded, still wary.</p>
<p>“Phryne, I’m sorry. I should never have…”</p>
<p>She cut him off with a kiss, not wanting to resume the argument. “I know. Let’s get back and you can work out how to make it up to me.”</p>
<p>He smiled, one of the cocky little smiles that always made her wonder what sort of man he had been in his youth. Before the war and the wariness that came with it.</p>
<p>“I’ve made a start on that,” he replied mysteriously. “Come and see.”</p>
<p>He certainly had. Their makeshift camp had been augmented by a campfire, set between large stones from the lake to ensure the fire stayed where it was put. Their flight clothes had been washed as well as could be managed in cold river water without soap and were lying out to dry in the sun, which had finally emerged from behind the mountains. He had even managed to fashion a billycan from the tin box previously containing their medical supplies.</p>
<p>“I hope you don’t mind. I had to borrow a pair of your stockings.”</p>
<p>Borrow was stretching it. One stocking now contained the contents of the first aid box, the other appeared to have done sterling service as a fishing net. A brace of perch sat, cleaned and gutted, by the side of the little fire ready for cooking, alongside a small selection of bushland herbs and tubers.</p>
<p>“My, you have been busy. I had no idea your wilderness skills were so impressive, Inspector.”</p>
<p>“I’m a little rusty, but I’m certain all of those are safe to eat. We used to go bushwalking every spring when I was a lad. Me, my dad and my brother. Dan hated it, especially when he got a bit older and had a girlfriend to leave behind.”</p>
<p>“I take it you were more enamoured with the bush than he was?”</p>
<p>Jack nodded, smiling at the memory. “I used to pretend we were cowboys roaming the Wild West. After dad died, Dan didn’t want to do it anymore, then the war happened, and I never took it up again.”</p>
<p>“Well, it doesn’t appear your skills have atrophied over the years. You really are very useful to have around.”</p>
<p>They feasted on fish, skewered on bulrush stalks and roasted over the fire and both found their tempers improved by the food and the warmth of the day. Frustrating as it was to be stuck without news or recourse when it came to the case of their own disappearance, it was impossible to deny the beauty of the place. The isolation came with a peace and tranquillity impossible to find in the city, and they had always been comfortable in each other’s company.</p>
<p>With the increased heat the lake became tempting once again and their second dip proved much more satisfying. Especially for Phryne who declared herself victor in their splash fight, a necessary conflict after Jack scandalously dunked her underwater! She would never normally have allowed herself to be caught off guard like that, but the sight of him, naked and at ease, the sunlight glinting off the water as it ran down his arms and chest had been extremely distracting - and the bastard had the gall to use it to his advantage!</p>
<p>Having called a truce, they floated lazily through the cool water watching little clouds crawl across the sky, luxuriating in the busy, living silence that surrounded them. Phryne righted herself, scrunching her toes into the sandy lake bed and closed her eyes, just breathing, as if she could absorb the blissful tranquillity of the afternoon through her lungs.</p>
<p>Jack watched, mesmerised; Phryne was a woman always in motion, swift and elusive as the fish darting through the shallow water that swirled around their naked thighs. Excepting in sleep he rarely saw her still, and he was captivated by the rapturous joy shining out from her face. He couldn’t help himself, his approach was quiet, but this time when he took her in his arms it was to kiss her, soft and slow, letting her know without words how exquisitely beautiful she was – in that moment, and every moment.</p>
<p>She opened sparkling eyes, her hands already beginning to wander, and led him to the shore where they had spread a blanket under the shade of the trees. Jack laid her down and took care to warm every inch of her skin with warm hands and soft kisses, tracing the little rivulets of water down over her belly and up her thighs, her unhurried sighs in stark contrast with the urgency of the previous night. When he finally dipped his tongue inside her she hummed contented appreciation, happy to let him take his fill.</p>
<p>Jack liked to take his time; he enjoyed the challenge of making Phryne wait, building her up only to withdraw at the last moment, bringing her to the brink over and over until she was writhing and begging for completion. This was different. A mutual appreciation of the journey not a race to the finish or an exercise in denial. Her climax stretched for long, golden minutes, a sensual extension of the sun, warm on bare skin, her whispered cries harmonising with the silence rather than breaking it.  </p>
<p>She drew him up so she could kiss the dreamy smile from his mouth as he entered her, before rolling them off of the blanket, wanting nothing between their naked selves and the living earth. They made love slow and sweet, under blue skies, the gentle rhythm of the place pulsing through them as they moved in languid undulations, the feel of warm skin against cool grass, the tingle of bright sun and clean air engulfing them in a fathomless and eternal serenity.</p>
<p>There was such a perfect intimacy in being alone in open space. No one but the mountains to hear Phryne’s moans as orgasm rolled through her in an endless torrent, wave after wave, lifting her up and casing her down, until the scent and sound of the wilderness and the glorious feel of Jack inside her merged into one; a moment of utter, erotic perfection.</p>
<p>Jack whispered words of love into her skin, breathing her in, all traces of her perfume washed away by the cool water of the lake, he drank in her scent, nothing but her, unadulterated and sublime. He lived so much of his life amidst the ugliness of the world, it was necessary work and he often found satisfaction in it, but out here, surrounded by nothing but love and quiet, it felt as if he had exhaled a long held breath and could finally breath free again. His every nerve thrummed with a raw living energy that invigorated even as it melted every care from his mind and ache from his limbs. He whispered her name as he came, pouring all he had into her as she kissed him and held him close, filling him with a sense of soul deep contentment beyond the reach of words.</p>
<p>They dozed afterwards, too spent to do anything else. There was something utterly decadent about being able to lie together, naked under the sky with no one to judge, and no murder or mayhem to disrupt them. When they woke again, Jack donned his smalls and an undershirt, deciding it was too hot for anything else, and Phryne purloined his clean shirt from the garments he had hung in the trees to dry.</p>
<p>Skinning and cooking the rabbit - along with bulrush roots and the few herbs Jack had been certain were edible - took more time than expected, Phryne’s dagger being better suited for threatening miscreants, but they managed it eventually. The result was a stew that could at best be described as ‘sustaining’, and both agreed that next time they ended up in such a situation they needed to pack salt. Or if possible, bring Mr Butler along.</p>
<p>It was getting late enough to warrant donning trousers by the time Phryne finally brought up their morning’s argument.</p>
<p>“Do you really think Monty could have been the one to sabotage the plane, Jack?”</p>
<p>Jack’s eyes still held regret over his outburst, but he did her the courtesy answering seriously rather than wasting time on further apologies.</p>
<p>“Hard to say on the evidence we have. He invited us to participate, and I seem to remember you saying he’d never beaten you before. Perhaps he harboured more resentment over that than you realised.”</p>
<p>Phryne weighed the statement carefully, nodded, fished her pistol once again from the case where she had secured it and handed Jack her dagger.</p>
<p>“Well in that case, we better be ready,” she replied, pointing towards the horizon, “because I believe that’s his Gipsy Moth heading towards us.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Partners in Crime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dot woke slowly. She was in a narrow bed, covered in a starched sheet and blanket. The air smelled of carbolic and there were voices just on the edge of hearing. As she surfaced further towards consciousness, she recognised the clipped public schoolgirl bark as Miss Fellows and the deep, familiar murmur of Dr McMillan saying something in reply.</p>
<p>Why was Dr Mac in Sydney? She couldn’t remember.</p>
<p>Her head felt groggy and swollen as if stuffed with feathers, but the dizzy sick feeling that had plagued her before seemed to have subsided. In fact, she felt quite hungry.</p>
<p>When had she last eaten? She couldn’t remember that either.</p>
<p>She breathed in slowly; confused memories of a ride in an ambulance, doctors poking and prodding. Then a warm bed and blissful sleep.</p>
<p>“She was looking a bit peaky when I found her.” Ada’s voice was softer than Dot remembered, perhaps she was worried about her. “I’m glad you could join us Lisbit, I’m sure Phryne would want that.”</p>
<p>“Phryne will be fine,” Mac too sounded different, as if the tight-laced control with which she faced the world had been loosened. She sounded weary. “Do you know how many times since I’ve known her that that woman has been declared dead? At least this time she’s only missing.”</p>
<p>“You’re worried.”</p>
<p>“Worrying about her never did anyone any good, Spiffy.”</p>
<p>“But you do.”</p>
<p>Dot’s eyes opened a fraction to see Ava holding Mac’s face in her hand. If Dot hadn’t known better, she would have sworn her thumb swiped away a tear. The two women kissed, a moment of comfort and intimacy into which she had unintentionally intruded. She shut her eyes tight and pretended to be asleep.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’re right, you know,” Ada offered in an apparent attempt at reassurance. “The pair of them are probably out in bushland somewhere busy making the local wildlife blush. Phryne’s an excellent pilot and Jack’s a surprisingly sensible man, given who he’s married to. We’ll get them back.”</p>
<p>It was strange to hear Ada trying to comfort someone. Dot didn’t know her well, but Miss Fellows had appeared more forthright than consoling in the time they had spent together, she was rather like Dr Mac in that respect – all sharp edges and irony. It was rather nice to think that they had each found someone with whom they could risk a little softness.</p>
<p>It appeared to help. Mac sighed, and when she spoke again it was in the brisk, no-nonsense voice which Dot recognised.</p>
<p>“I see someone’s awake. How are you feeling Dot?”</p>
<p>“Hungry,” she admitted, happy to brush over the awkward moment without comment. There was no news and no need to dwell on the fact. “You didn’t need to come all this way, Doctor,” she added, although she was happy that she had. Aside from Miss Phryne, there was not another woman alive she would rather have with her in a crisis.</p>
<p>“Nonsense. Do you know what happened?”</p>
<p>“I had a funny turn; I don’t think it was quite the same as last time though. I felt cold and dizzy, I couldn’t stand upright.”</p>
<p>The breathing exercises Mac had given her had followed an incident in which Hugh had been called out to round up a couple of gang members caught in a skirmish. An officer had been badly hurt in the ensuing fracas and it had been several hours before they had managed to get word that Hugh was safe and well. Ever since then, Dot’s nerves had troubled her in times of stress - sometimes almost as badly as they had before she had met Miss Fisher - although she was determined not to let them get in the way of her job.</p>
<p>“And you’ve been feeling sick?”</p>
<p>Dot nodded; she had a feeling she knew what the next question would be. She’d had her hopes but after so many disappointments had not wanted to admit to them, even to herself.</p>
<p>“When was the last time you menstruated?”</p>
<p>Dot blushed at the baldness of the question, but answered honestly. “I might be a couple of weeks late.”</p>
<p>“Well, we can’t say for certain for a day or so, but I’d say congratulations are in order.”</p>
<p>The smile that spread across Dot’s face was honest and entirely involuntary. They had been trying for so long that she had almost given up hope, and whilst her work with Miss Phryne was wonderful and she’d never want to give it up, she had always dreamed of a family of her own. Hugh had never said as much to her, but she knew he too had been disappointed that no children had appeared despite their prayers. She could hardly wait to share the good news with him.</p>
<p>“Before you rush off to telephone the father-to-be,” said Mac, reading her thoughts, “I think we should talk about Fredrick Burn. Ada picked something up that Detective Collins might find interesting.”</p>
<p>“I did try to call him last night,” Ada added, “but the Constable on the phone – Martin, I think he said his name was – was not disposed to be especially helpful.”</p>
<p>Dot rolled her eyes at Mac, who had also had the misfortune to work with the man.</p>
<p>“We’ve had the pleasure,” she assured her, “no need to say more.”</p>
<p>“Well, before you had your turn, I noticed that snivelling little bastard you were intimidating had dropped something. A considerable amount of something, in fact. I didn’t have time to count it before he grabbed it back, but I’d say there was well over £100, all banded up, mostly small bills.”</p>
<p>“That’s a lot of money to be carrying around. You don’t suppose he’s taken up pornography again? Miss Phryne told me he’d been arrested for it in Sydney, but that was years ago.”</p>
<p>“Not pornography no.” Ada fished a small leather notebook out of Mac’s medical bag. “I think he was running a book on the air race. This looks like his ledger to me.”</p>
<p>She handed it over and Dot scanned the list of names and figures.</p>
<p>“Most people seem to have been betting on Miss Phryne to win,” she noticed, vicarious pride thrilling through her despite the circumstances. “He must have made a lot of money, far more than £100. Oh, my goodness, look at this!”</p>
<p>She pointed to a name next to the princely sum of £3,000, the largest by far within the book.</p>
<p>“Le Mont. Isn’t that French?”</p>
<p>“It is,” Mac agreed, “although I’d guess the man who placed the bet was decidedly English.”</p>
<p>Dot nodded in agreement “Lord Montgomery? If he bet on Phryne to win, that would explain why he tried to get you to throw the race.”</p>
<p>“And why he said he’d ‘lost everything’ when we spoke to him last night.” Ada agreed. “I thought he was talking about Phryne, but perhaps this was what was worrying him.”</p>
<p>“It makes Fredrick Burn look very suspicious.”</p>
<p>She flicked back through the pages off the book, the air race didn’t appear to be the only event the man had been accepting bets on, there were pages dealing with everything from footy games to tennis matches. Scanning the names and dates with interest she found references to ‘M. Le Mont’ every few pages, always attached to shockingly large amounts of cash.</p>
<p>He seems to have made a lot of money out of Lord Montgomery, if that is who ‘Le Mont’ is. I wonder if he’s collected it all yet.”</p>
<p>“I suspect not, because he’s been trying very hard to get this book back. I had a visit from the charming Sgt Hennelly this morning. I’m sure you remember him.”</p>
<p>“Burn called the police? But this is gambling, surely they could arrest him?”</p>
<p>“Unlike you, I suspect Mr Burn has no moral objections when it comes to bribery, Dot,” Mac noted dryly. “Luckily, Ada suspected he might attempt a visit and entrusted the book to me before he arrived.”</p>
<p>“Well, at least that means he’s likely to still be in the city, but he was on the train from Melbourne with me before the race started - he couldn’t have had anything to do with any sabotage, not unless he had an accomplice.”</p>
<p>“Still, if he’s made that much out of her disappearance, he’s got a jolly good motive. Might be worth having another chat with the blighter. Mac says your Hugh’s a decent sort, we thought he might put us in touch with a local plod who’s got a bit more gumption than our friend the Sergeant.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure he can. If there’s a telephone I can use, I’ll call the station. Hugh should be there by now.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Mac held up a remonstrating hand as Dot made to get out of bed. “It can wait, first, you need some breakfast. You might well be eating for two after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dottie, are you alright?”</p>
<p>Even when filled with worry and exhaustion, Hugh’s voice made his wife’s stomach flutter with happiness. She had barely had a chance to miss him since she’d been in Sydney, but hearing him over the telephone made her wish he were with her. She smiled in anticipation of delivering her news, although, perhaps it would be better to deal with professional matters first.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course, Hugh, in fact I’ve got some…”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t at the station last night, and then this morning I got a message that Dr Mac had gone to Sydney and you were in the hospital, that there was some kind of fight? I know you’re worried about Miss Fisher, but you can’t just go around attacking people…”</p>
<p>“Hugh Collins, what on earth are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“Hold on, Dottie, wait.” There was a clunk; Hugh had obviously placed the telephone receiver on his desk. His next words were muffled; he seemed to be yelling someone in the office. “You, out! Go tell the men I’ll be briefing them in ten-minutes, and no one is to talk to the press without my say so.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, love. It’s bedlam here. Miss Fisher and the Inspector are all over the papers - <em>Mystery Disappearance. Police Baffled</em>. I think one of the Constables must have spoken to them.”</p>
<p>He did not elaborate on which constable he suspected of such insubordination but given what Ada had said about her attempt to leave a message, Dot had her theories.</p>
<p>“Would that be Constable Martin, by any chance? Miss Ada said he was less than helpful on the telephone.”</p>
<p>“You know him, then?”</p>
<p>Dot thought he sounded strange, slightly strangled almost, but she supposed that was to be expected with all that was going on.</p>
<p>“Not well, but I remember him. I don’t think the Inspector liked him very much.”</p>
<p>“And you? Did you like him?”</p>
<p>The penny dropped. Constable Martin had been telling tales. Dot rolled her eyes. Sometimes she could fully appreciate why Doctor McMillan had no time for men.</p>
<p>“Well, I threatened to get you to knock him down if he kept getting fresh with me, but that was a long time ago. I doubt he even remembers.”</p>
<p>“You did?”</p>
<p>“Yes, what’s this about, Hugh?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. Nothing. Um… are you sure you’re alright, Dottie? I’m sorry I didn’t come to Sydney, I only just heard you weren’t well.”</p>
<p>“I already told you, I’m fine. What about you? What’s happening, do you have any news about Miss Phryne and the Inspector?” Until that moment, she had still been holding out a vague hope that Hugh might have heard something she hadn’t.</p>
<p>“Nothing. Captain Compton has organised a search and rescue from the airbase, so we should hear something within the next few hours. I’ve spoken to the pilots who were in the race; seem like decent sorts and they both have alibies. If you’re right about the sabotage, I don’t think it was them.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re there, Hugh.”</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t think anyone else is. I was only supposed to be in charge temporarily, I just got off the phone with the Chief Commissioner, I don’t know how the Inspector keeps his temper with all this stuff.”</p>
<p>“Inspector Robinson wouldn’t have left you in charge if he didn’t think you were up to the job. I know you can do it, Detective Collins. I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you too, Mrs Collins.”</p>
<p>She could hear the first hints of a smile in his voice and was about to take it as an invitation to share her own news, when her husband said something which, even after years of marriage, still came as a welcome surprise.</p>
<p>“Actually, Dot, if you’re feeling up to it, I could use your help?”</p>
<p>“Of course, Hugh. What do you need?”</p>
<p>She was still half-expecting him to try and order her back to Melbourne. They had managed to find a balance between their home life and their work, but it was sometimes a little precarious. Hugh still worried that her work would put her in danger, and Dot was not always the most forthcoming with some of the things she had to do in Miss Phryne’s service. When they worked together, though, those times were the happiest parts of their marriage. Well, excepting the ones which still made both of them blush.</p>
<p>“I asked around at the airfield yesterday, and it doesn’t look like any of the race participants would have had the opportunity to tamper with the plane that morning – all except Lord Monty.”</p>
<p>“He asked Miss Ada to throw the race, Hugh, and he was in love with Miss Fisher. He told us he always used to let her win when they flew together and didn’t seem at all happy that she married the Inspector.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. That’s certainly suspicious.”</p>
<p>“I thought so too, but perhaps not. It looks like he bet heavily on Miss Phryne to win. Sabotaging her plane would have cost him a lot of money.”</p>
<p>“Could be a way to deflect suspicion, I suppose. What about Miss Ada? I’ve got a witness that says she was dropped off by someone who sounded like Dr Mac just before the race started.”</p>
<p>“I can check, but you don’t really suspect her do you, Hugh? She’s been ever so kind; I can’t see why she would want to hurt Miss Fisher or the Inspector. Besides, Dr Mac thinks very highly of her.”</p>
<p>She added the last point with only the faint hope that her husband would pick up on the implications of the statement. Hugh was far cleverer than many people gave him credit for, but in some ways he would forever and always be <em>Hugh</em>. As far as Dottie was concerned, it was one of his most endearing features.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’re right, Dottie, but I’d feel better if you could check. That wasn’t what I was going to ask though.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“There were two old hands from the airfield, Reginald Jeffries and William Buckley. A witness put them at the hangar around the time Miss Fisher’s plane was being checked over by the mechanics.”</p>
<p>“Reggo and Billy Whiskers? You’ve met them; they’ve known Miss Fisher since she was a girl. I made them those macaroons for Billy’s birthday last year.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I remember. Still, they might have a motive…”</p>
<p>“Oh, spit it out, Hugh!”</p>
<p>“One of the mechanics accused them of being… homosexual.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“It might just be a rumour and I’ve not spoken to the man yet, but it’s possible that they were worried the Inspector might find out and arrest them.”</p>
<p>“You don’t sound like you think that’s very likely.”</p>
<p>“No. That’s why I’m asking you to look into it, rather than putting in a call to the local police.”</p>
<p>“Well, you might want to do that anyway. Assuming you know someone who’s of any use. Wait till I tell you about Fredrick Burn…”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> Dot was thoughtful as she made her way back to her room to find Miss Ada and Dr Mac. Talking to Hugh about the case, having him ask for her help and trust her judgement – it was a very pleasant reminder of how far they had come. Even his ridiculous spike of jealousy over that fool Neville Martin had served to remind her how well they fit together as Detective and Mrs Collins.</p>
<p>Would a baby change that? Would he suddenly become overprotective, try to stop her working? Did she want to stop? With Miss Phryne missing, did she even have a job anymore? Despite the vague leads they were following, there really was no evidence that this was anything but bad weather, and no evidence that the two detectives were still alive.</p>
<p>She hadn’t told him about the baby.</p>
<p>They had talked about the case and about their worries for their friends and their plans to help them, but somehow it just hadn’t seemed like the right time. There would be time. Later. Perhaps they would need something to look forward to if the search turned up nothing - or worse…</p>
<p>She shuddered and forced her mind off that train of thought. There was nothing she could do to help with the search, and she had work to do. Hugh had agreed to contact Lord Montgomery and call him in for questioning to see if his story matched up with Miss Ada’s. His Lordship’s enthusiasm to help might also be a way to gauge his possible guilt. In the meantime, Dot was going to find and Miss Phryne’s friends Reggo and Billy, and Hugh was going to see if the Sydney police would bring in Fredrick Burn for questioning.</p>
<p>There was no need to worry Hugh about the baby just yet, not until she knew for sure.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Shadow Boxing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hugh finally gets some good news and heads to the airfield to pick up a suspect...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, Detective, we know that they crashed, and that Miss Fisher at least appears to have survived. After that things get a bit dicey.”</p><p>“Dicey, Captain? Have your men found them or not?”</p><p>“No. That’s rather the problem. We got a radio call in from Lord Montgomery, but the man wasn’t making much sense. Kept ranting on about needing to defend himself against a mad woman with a gun.”</p><p>“That certainly sounds like Miss Fisher.”</p><p>“Quite; but we still don’t know where he found her or what state she was in. My men will keep looking of course.”</p><p>“And he didn’t say anything about Inspector Robinson?”</p><p>“Nothing I’d care to repeat in polite company, and nothing that gave us any information beyond his disappointment that Phryne married the man. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job Detective, but if I were you, I’d have someone meet his Lordship when he lands in Melbourne.”</p><p>“I’ll be there myself, Captain. I appreciate the help.”</p><p>“No problem. Keep me informed and I’ll do the same.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Hugh put the telephone receiver back in its holder and pondered for a second. He had wanted to stay at the station and wait for Lord Montgomery there. That way he would be able to speak to Dot if she found anything else out. She would, of course, need to be told the news about Miss Fisher, but he would rather have a chance to talk to Lord Montgomery first. This little scrap of information was as likely to worry as reassure her.</p><p>He sighed, grabbed his hat and coat, and, as an extra precaution, collected a revolver from the weapons locker. He didn’t think he was likely to need it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Constable Martin was at the desk and he considered taking him along, despite the man’s many failures he was the most familiar with the case, but their altercation the night before was still fresh in his mind and he couldn’t quite bring himself to sit in a car with the man. It had been all he could do to return his helmet and notebook to him, especially as he suspected it had been Martin who had leaked the news of the detective’s disappearance to the papers.</p><p>“I’m going to pick up a suspect at the airfield,” he informed him curtly, “Anyone needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”</p><p>He could, of course, have taken another constable. Should have. It wasn’t good procedure to pick up a potentially dangerous suspect alone. But the idea of having to explain why he had made the sudden personnel change was more than he could manage on top of a stomach full of worry. At least the Martin had the good grace to recognise he’d been an idiot, but Martin’s stuttered apologies as he had presented himself in front of Hugh’s desk would have been a lot more satisfying if Compton’s telephone call had provided a clearer picture of what had happened.</p><p>They still had no news of the Inspector. He was relieved, of course, to hear that Miss Fisher was safe, more for Dottie’s sake than for his own, but he honestly didn’t know what he would do if he lost Jack Robinson. Hugh had lost his dad years before he’d been old enough to shave, and although he could be a little gruff at times, Jack had in many ways stepped into fill some of the space that loss had left.</p><p>God, he had made a mess of this. If Dot was right and this was a case of sabotage, this whole airfield was a crime scene and should have been cordoned off and covered in police from the moment he had heard the Inspector was missing. Had he only been humouring her? He could have done it if he had wanted to. Why had he been so reluctant to wield the power he had been given? Had he been afraid of overstepping his borrowed authority, or being seen as under the thumb of his wife? Some of the lads – those unkind and envious of the Inspector’s success – still said things like that about him and Miss Fisher. <em>Mrs Fisher-Robinson</em>. Both detectives always appeared more amused than annoyed at his inability to get that right and Dottie still called her ‘Miss Phryne’ and seemed unlikely ever to stop, but right now he wanted to give Jack Robinson every accolade he had ever earned. A muddled expression of faith in the man’s ability to survive.</p><p>He hadn’t even been able to keep the whole mess out of the papers, much to the anger of the Commissioner. Hugh had phoned him directly after his conversation with Compton, and it had been made clear that if the Inspector wasn’t back in his post by the time Miss Fisher was returned to Melbourne, a more senior officer would be needed to fill his place. It did not escape the detective’s notice that the man had not assumed the Inspector was still alive. One thing was for sure; if the inspector was dead - and Hugh’s inaction resulted in his killer going free - he would have no business calling himself a policeman.</p><p>He forced himself to shake off his melancholy as he approached the airfield. The pavilion and stage had all been cleared away, leaving only the hangar. The grey, corrugated iron building appeared to be regarding him with a mixture of condescension and disapproval. He tried glaring at it, but it was not an expression Hugh had ever really mastered, and the building did not appear in the least cowed by his presence. He was sure that if Inspector Robinson had been there, it would already be confessing to a variety of hitherto unsuspected crimes.</p><p>Not wanting to stand around to be outstared by a mere building, Hugh wandered inside. The large metal doors were unlocked, the well-oiled hinges surprisingly quiet as they swung open. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but once they did, he could see nothing obviously amiss. The large hall was empty, apart from a clearly inoperative rusty plane painted a dark red, with a large panel missing from the undercarriage. Someone appeared to be working on it; he could see a selection of tools laid out on a bench close by and heard the faint sound of someone whistling an old military tune he faintly recognised but couldn’t quite place.</p><p>He didn’t have to wait long to find out who it was. A large man, carrying an even larger sheet of metal, rounded the defunct plane at the propeller end and propped the panel by the workbench. He was dressed in the grubby oil slicked overalls of a mechanic, and had apparently been touching up the paintwork, as the dirty cotton was splattered with dark, cherry red splotches. ‘<em>Too red for blood</em>’ Hugh thought, the memory of an old case he had worked with the Inspector bubbling up from nowhere to remind him what he might have lost.</p><p>The man wiped his sweaty brow with a surprisingly clean handkerchief and looked up.</p><p>“G’day. Need something, mister?”</p><p>Hugh flashed his warrant card through force of habit.</p><p>“Detective Collins, City South. I take it you’re a mechanic here?”</p><p>“I am. You here about that fancy lady and her fella that’s gone missing?”</p><p>“That’s right. Knew them, did you?”</p><p>“Enough to say g’day. Can’t say they’d ever invited me out for a pint.”</p><p>“Were you the one who checked over the planes before the race?”</p><p>“I did, but not just me. His Lordship made sure he was there for each one. Said he had to ensure fair play. And your Mrs Fisher-Robinson was looking over his shoulder too, and she knew what was what when it came to an engine.”</p><p>“And there was nothing wrong with any of the planes?”</p><p>“Nothing I could see. You ask me, they just ran into bad weather. Can happen to the best flyer.”</p><p>Hugh nodded, extracting his notepad. “When you spoke to my constable, you said you suspected her fellow competitors Mr Reginald Jeffreys and Mr William Buckley.”</p><p>“Never said I suspected them.”</p><p>The mechanic picked up a wrench from the selection of tools he had laid out and began tightening bolts on the plane’s landing gear.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Your man asked me if I’d seen anything funny round here, and I told him those two old mandrakes had been carrying on where anyone could’a seen ‘em. Would’a said more too, but that copper scarpered pretty quick after I told him that.”</p><p>“Oh, and what else would you have said?”</p><p>“That I wouldn’t trust his Lordship further than I could spit. He was happy enough getting an eye-full when she was leaning over to see the engine, but she never paid him any mind. She said something about her fella’ an’ I swear he looked like he’d like to see ‘im go west if you catch my meaning.”</p><p>“You think he wanted Inspector Robinson dead?”</p><p>“Well, he had a set against him for sure. Reckon he’d have liked a crack at his missus. Can’t say if he’d want her gone if he couldn’t have one, but you never know.”</p><p>“Thank you, Mr?”</p><p>“Biggs. Donnie Biggs. Mostly I go by Biggo.”</p><p>“Well, Mr Biggs, Lord Montgomery should be landing soon, and I’ll be sure to ask him about that. How did you get along with Inspector Robinson and his wife?”</p><p>“Can’t say as I had much to do with them. Always very polite, both of ‘em, and she was free with her brass whenever I helped out with the plane.”</p><p>The conversation was interrupted at that point by the thrum of an engine. Hugh made for the door to the hangar, and, after glancing thoughtfully at the plane, Biggo apparently decided that whatever drama was about to unfold was likely to be more interesting than his repair job and followed him.</p><p>The two men gathered in the shade of the hangar as Lord Monty’s Gipsy Moth buzzed its way erratically towards them.</p><p>“He’s gonna have a nasty bingle unless he straightens her out. Pull up, you great gazob!”</p><p>Biggo appeared somewhat more concerned for the plane than its occupant as he gesticulated wildly in the hopes of avoiding a smash. To Hugh’s surprise, the man in the cockpit appeared to either take the mechanic’s advice or come to the same conclusion. The little plane pulled up, straightened out, and met the dry grass underfoot with a decisive crunch. It looked like a bumpy landing, but still a long way from a crash.</p><p>Hugh lost no time closing in on his prime suspect.</p><p>“Lord Montgomery?”</p><p>A large moustache appeared from underneath a discarded flight scarf as the plane’s occupant shook off his goggles and unleashed his hair from the confines of his bomber hat.</p><p>“Yes, Sah! What can I do for you, man?”</p><p>“Detective Collins, Victoria Constabulary. I need to ask you some questions about the disappearance of Inspector Robinson and his wife, Phryne Fisher-Robinson.”</p><p>Hugh had adopted the level, unflappable tone of A-Policeman-Making-An-Inquiry. It was designed to give the impression that the person in front of you was required to respond and to obey. It carried the force of the law behind it, even if technically there was no evidence, as yet, that the law had in fact been broken. He actually made a rather good job of The Voice. The Inspector would have been impressed. Unfortunately for Hugh, the upper crust had voices of their own and were largely immune to that kind of low-grade intimidation.</p><p>“Don’t talk to me about that deranged bloody harpy! Can’t imagine what I ever saw in her. That fool Robinson’s welcome to her, pair of lunatics. Can’t be reasoned with.”</p><p>Hugh breathed out a slow, sigh of relief as the weight of worry he had been carrying since Dottie’s telegram had landed on his desk lifted from his shoulders. His friends were alive. In the brief silence, the sound of another motor - this one much closer to the ground - began to get louder.</p><p>“Are you saying you’ve found them, Lord Montgomery?”</p><p>“I’m saying I want the pair of them locked up as soon as you get them back here! That woman tried to shoot me in cold blood. Accused me of trying to sabotage my own air race! Can you believe it?! The nerve. Well I told her she could take her good-for-nothing-husband and starve on the side of Mount Hay for all I cared. Damned woman threatened to steal my plane!”</p><p>A police motorcar pulled up next to the one Hugh had already parked and discharged a harried looking Constable Martin. He did not look very happy to be there. Hugh, however, had more important things to worry about and continued his interrogation of Lord Monty as if nothing had happened.</p><p>“And did you?”</p><p>“Did I what, man?”</p><p>“In my experience, Miss Fisher’s not often wrong. Did you attempt to sabotage her plane?”</p><p>“Um, Sir? Sir!” Neville was bobbing up and down like a schoolboy halfway through a Sunday service and in desperate need of a lavatory.</p><p>“Not. Now. Martin,” Hugh growled through gritted teeth. Whatever that cretin wanted it could surely wait.</p><p>Thankfully, Lord Montgomery took even less notice of the Constable than his boss and his ranting continued apace.</p><p>“No, Sah! I did not! I will have you know I am an Officer and a Gentleman and would not stoop to such things, even if there was any reason for me to do so!”</p><p>“He’s right you know.” The Lord and the two policemen turned to look at Biggo, and it dawned on Hugh with mounting horror that the man was still carrying the large wrench with which he had been fixing the plane.</p><p>Neville Martin was not the greatest gift to policing. Or more accurately, he was not the greatest gift to the constabulary of his age. He was, when left alone with a filing cabinet and a monotonous task, the kind of diligent investigator who would, by the beginning of the next century, be invaluable in tracking down fraudsters and terrorists as they moved money and munitions across international borders. As it was, his complete inability to absorb non-verbal cues, his total lack of any common sense, and a pressing need to improve his standing in the eyes of his superior officer, all combined into a perfect storm of terrible decision making.</p><p>“Donald Biggs, I am arresting you for -” SMACK!</p><p>If the wrench had hit his head, that would have been it for Neville Martin. Luckily for him, he managed to twist out of the way and the blow landed on his shoulder instead. Hugh shuddered as he heard the bone break and Neville screamed. The detective pulled his gun out of the waistband of his trousers and levelled it at Biggs who was advancing on him with murderous intent.</p><p>“Drop it!”</p><p>The warning was procedure but still a mistake; in the split second it took to give it, the formerly friendly mechanic had swung his weapon again, knocking Hugh’s pistol to the ground. Hugh was a large man and a boxer to boot, but – as Phryne had frequently observed - Biggs lived up to his name. He caught him with a punch to the gut and didn’t stop for breath. He was making for the plane.</p><p>“Oh, no you don’t!” To his credit, Lord Monty at least managed to land a punch before he was lifted bodily from the plane and dropped to the ground, the propeller still buzzing.</p><p>Hugh rose and attempted to footy tackle the man off the wing before he could get into the cockpit. It almost worked; he managed to throw the mechanic off balance and would have dragged him to the ground if he hadn’t still been holding the wrench. He dropped it right on Hugh’s head, catching the handle as it connected with his skull. It was nothing like the force that could have been dealt with a deliberate blow, but it was enough to send him sprawling once again. Stars burst behind his eyes and he wondered distractedly why Jack had never mentioned how much head injuries hurt.</p><p>A shot rang out. Monty had picked up Hugh’s fallen weapon and taken aim, but the fall seemed to have winded him badly, and it went wide. The little plane was already off and picking up speed, racing across the field and up into the sky, the purr of the engine dissipating as Biggo made good his escape.</p><p>Neville Martin was still on the ground, very pale and clutching his shoulder. Lord Monty looked him over with the eye of a combat veteran and handed him a hip flask, the contents of which made the younger man gag.</p><p>“Best get you to a hospital. Up you get, old chap, easy. That’s right.”</p><p>The effort of standing appeared to be too much, and Neville sank once more to the grass, retching with the pain. Hugh and Neville might have had their bones of contention, but he was still a fellow officer, injured on the job, and the detective couldn’t help but respect the way his constable had stood his ground against a man a good head-and-a-half taller than him. Foolish as it had been. Looking down at the man’s pale face pinched in agony, he couldn’t even bring himself to stay angry with him. What was the point, after all, in being angry at a supposed rival when you’d already won?</p><p>“Come on, mate. Let’s get you to the car. Here you go.”</p><p>Between them, they bundled the man into the back of the car and sped off towards the hospital, Hugh behind the wheel despite the lump on his head, Monty doing his best to keep the younger man conscious.</p><p>“How did you know, lad? How did you know it was him?”</p><p>“Dottie… Mrs Collins called. Said Burn had been picked up trying to get out of Sydney. Was running a book. She thinks Burn paid someone to fix the race.”</p><p>“That duplicitous bastard!” Lord Monty exclaimed in a manner certain to elicit further questioning once they had gotten Neville safely to a doctor. The constable however, continued without appearing to hear him.</p><p>“Then I looked in the files… Donald Biggs. His uncle Arthur… ran a boxing ring…”</p><p>“Big Arthur’s Boxing.” Hugh remembered the case. It had been one of those cases were law and justice didn’t quite see eye-to-eye. Just the kind of case that sewed grudges in those left behind. He didn’t know what had become of Big Arthur once his wife had been arrested for the murder of a gangland thug, but unless he could find a way to warn them, he suspected Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson were about to find out.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Flight Delays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back in the bush, we discover what happened when Lord Monty caught up with Phryne and Jack. Spoiler - they thwart the shit out of some miscreants. You know you love it when they do that.</p>
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    <p>Jack stumbled up to the plane, the hastily retied bandage around his head carefully positioned to show the maximum amount of dried blood. From the shelter of the trees, Phryne watched, gun in hand, breathing slowly to calm herself as Jack walked out into possible danger.</p><p>He would be fine. They were always fine. Unless, of course, this time they weren’t.</p><p>“Lord Monty, thank God. This way, quickly. Phryne’s hurt!”</p><p>The man already looked a little green around the gills, but at Jack’s words, he paled noticeably. Jack stopped a short distance from him, keeping a wary and unobtrusive eye out for any sign of a weapon. Monty’s concern seemed genuine however, and Jack had to admit that perhaps his suspicion was rooted as much in dislike of the man as it was in any actual evidence. Not being able to investigate the mystery surrounding the crash had not been easy for the two detectives, despite the beauty of their surroundings.</p><p>“Where is she, Jack? What happened?”</p><p>“Hit a storm, came down over that way. I’ll take you to her. We need to get her to the plane.”</p><p>They moved swiftly off towards the trees. Monty had set his Gipsy down on the far side of the lake from where they had slept, the very spot, in fact, that Phryne had originally intended to land on. Their makeshift camp including the ‘tent’ was clearly visible over the water, and Monty spotted it at once, keeping close to the lakeside and allowing Jack to follow behind him.</p><p>“It’s been a damned nightmare back in Sydney, you know. Poor Mrs Collins has been beside herself. Can’t say I blame her, terrible, just terrible. Can’t see the race going ahead again after this – sabotage is a dirty business.”</p><p>“I take it Mrs Collins has been investigating?” Jack asked, deciding to keep his opinion to himself when it came to the subject of repeating the escapade that had gotten them stuck out here.</p><p>“Her and everyone else. I was just heading back to Melbourne to talk to her husband, took a chance going west in case I spotted you and got lucky. Just don’t leave your Mrs Collins in the room with the man when you catch the blighter, what!”</p><p>“Any suspects?”</p><p>“How the devil would I know?”</p><p>Phryne’s revolver clicked menacingly as she stepped out from behind a tree, blocking Monty’s return to the plane.</p><p>“I might ask you the same question, Monty. How exactly did you know our plane was sabotaged?”</p><p>“What?” For once the exclamation was the result of genuine confusion rather than the background pomposity which Lord Monty seemed unable to escape. He gaped at her, his bushy moustache bristling in indignation as the implication of her question hit home.</p><p>“What’s all this about, Phryne? Jack said you were injured.”</p><p>“Answer the question, Monty.”</p><p>“What are you talking about, woman? I don’t know anything. Mrs Collins has been running around accusing people of things left, right and centre, the Air Force is out looking for you, not to mention the police. Are you saying your plane <em>was</em> sabotaged?”</p><p>He made to move towards her but stopped at the sight of Phryne’s dagger in Jack’s hand, his eyes flicking from one detective to the other as confusion gave way to anger.</p><p>“You’re stark raving mad, the pair of you. Why in the Hell would I want to sabotage my own race? And Phryne. I’ve known you for years, after all the time we spent together. You can’t seriously believe I could do such a thing?”</p><p>“You never did enjoy seeing me win.”</p><p>Monty laughed a rather hollow, nasty laugh and gave her a contemptuous look which put Jack on edge. He really would rather get out of this situation without witnessing his partner commit a murder.</p><p>“Didn’t enjoy it? Damnit, woman, I let you win every time. You never would have stood a chance if I didn’t.”</p><p>It was Phryne’s turn to laugh, and the derision in the sound put Monty’s to shame.</p><p>“If you were too much of a coward to try and beat me, don’t hide behind chivalry. I never asked for your help and I never needed it.”</p><p>“Is that why you did it?” Jack asked, wanting to distract the man and give Phryne a chance to calm down a little before she fully lost her temper and shot him. “You wanted to finally beat her, but you knew you couldn’t do it alone. She’s always been the better flyer.”</p><p>“Poppycock! Utter poppycock! I don’t know who sabotaged your plane – if it wasn’t just poor flying by damned amateurs - but from what I can see, they probably had a bloody good reason. Lost a packet on it, too.”</p><p>“You bet on us to win?” It was Phryne’s turn to be confused, although she couldn’t deny she’d have put money on her self if it had occurred to her to do so.</p><p>“Could have finally gotten that damn bookie off my back if that frigid tom you paired me up with hadn’t refused. Still. I beat you this time, fair and square.”</p><p>Jack flinched slightly as Phryne narrowed her eyes at the man’s unflattering description of Ava Fellows. It was at least a little reassuring to realise that his initial assessment had been correct. The man was a complete idiot. No sensible man would level insults at her friend like that whilst she was pointing a gun at him. In all honesty, that was as much of a hole in their theory as the assertion he had been betting on Phryne to win. The sabotage of the plane had been clever, calculating. Nothing like the bluff and bluster on display before them now.</p><p>“You think he’s telling the truth?” He met Phryne’s eyes, silently indicating that he was inclined to believe the man innocent.</p><p>“Well, if he is, I’m sure he wouldn’t object to an old friend borrowing his plane?”</p><p>The question was punctuated with a flick of her revolver, which would, in most circumstances, have guaranteed the detectives a swift exit. Sadly, whilst Lord Montgomery was many things, including a cad, a bounder - and as Jack rightly observed, a bit of a fool - what he was not was a coward. He was also not a man to back down when he felt his honour had been impugned.</p><p>“You most certainly may not! Let me go this instant!”</p><p>“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you and take it?”</p><p>“I didn’t do anything to your damned plane, Phryne. Are you really willing to shoot and rob an unarmed man? What about you, Inspector? Will you let your wife commit murder in front of you?”</p><p>“I have never been a fool enough to imagine I can ‘let’ Phryne do anything. But it needn’t come to that. If you’re innocent as you claim, you could just radio for help.”</p><p>“Not from the ground, with this mad woman pointing a gun at me, I won’t. I am a gentleman, sir, and I will let the authorities know where you are. Let’s hope they have the good sense to arrest the pair of you when they arrive.”</p><p>Another glance between Phryne and Jack resolved the issue. Phryne, too, was many things, but she wasn’t a murderer; she wouldn’t fire except in self-defence and Monty had called her bluff. Even if she didn’t aim to kill, a gunshot wound out here would be too unpredictable to risk on a man who presented no clear threat.</p><p>Nevertheless, she kept him in her sights till he got into the cockpit, allowing Jack to start the propeller. Monty glared down at her, his eyes, still angry, now holding a touch of regret.</p><p>“I can’t believe I was fool enough to love you all these years.” He glanced to Jack, who backed off to give him room to fly. “You’re welcome to her, Robinson. Just don’t be surprised when she turns on you too.”</p><p>Jack didn’t bother to contradict the man. He had no need for his good opinion, and the trust between he and Phryne ran deep enough that some things didn’t need to be said.</p><p>It should not be possible to pilot an aircraft in a haughty manner, but Lord Montgomery was an aristocrat of the first water and there was very little in life he couldn’t imbue with a sense of distain and arrogance. The little plane buzzed off over the mountains leaving two detectives, both uncertain if that altercation counted as a victory and none the wiser as to who exactly was trying to kill them.</p><p>“You know, it might have been better if you had stolen that plane. Even if he didn’t sabotage ours, he might not be very inclined to send help at this point.”</p><p>“Encouraging criminal behaviour now, Inspector? I have been a good influence on you.”</p><p>“You never heard a word. Besides, I’m under duress.”</p><p>They exchanged an amused smile, the edge of the encounter with Monty softened by the knowledge that whatever came next, they would face it together.</p><p>“He would have made me shoot him. The man’s more stubborn than you are.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you for not doing that. It would have meant a great deal of paperwork.”</p><p>“You know me, Jack. I’m the model of restraint.”</p><p>They both laughed at the absurdity of the idea, but the happy interlude was short lived.</p><p>“Day’s not over,” Jack pointed out with something resembling a return to seriousness. “We can hope your friend Monty will just contact the authorities and wash his hands of us, but there’s still a chance whoever he sends will be involved in the sabotage.”</p><p>“Or that he won’t send anyone at all.”</p><p>The thought of being stuck out here miles away from anyone was intolerable. Much as she loved Jack’s company, Phryne was by nature a social creature. She needed the steady push and pull of those around her to keep from spiralling in on herself.</p><p>“He did say the Airforce is out looking,” Jack pointed out, “and Dot and Hugh wouldn’t leave us out here even if they thought we were dead. We won’t be stuck here forever, Phryne. In the meantime, let’s get moving.”</p><p>He gestured back towards their campsite and Phryne nodded, knowing he was right. She glared at the sky above, broken into fractured pieces by the trees, silently daring it to produce an adversary. She needed something that she could fight and was far better at reacting to situations than strategy. Luckily, she had a partner for that. She had always appreciated a man with a plan; it saved her the trouble of having to come up with one, before abandoning it and deciding to improvise.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Phryne checked the chamber of her pistol. After catching their supper and her adventure with the spider, she was down to her last bullet. If this didn’t work, they were going to be in real trouble. They had packed up their little camp and hidden their various belongings under the trees as Jack had first suggested, hoping that the cover of the wood would be enough to shield them from unfriendly eyes. Without their few possessions and their little campfire to give them away, the crashed Swallow was the obvious focal point for anyone trying to find them, so they holed up in the nearby bush to keep watch.</p><p>Jack had climbed up into one of the trees to get a better view, the muscles of his arms rippling pleasingly under his loose buttoned shirt. With his unkempt hair and rumpled trousers, Phryne thought he looked rather like some kind of ‘wild man of the woods’. It suited him, and she had no trouble at all imagining the young lad, going bushwalking with his father and brother, searching for adventure in the wilderness. Maybe once all of this was over, they could return, this time with proper equipment and a real tent.</p><p>He peered down through the leaves at her, grinning at the realisation that he was being ogled.</p><p>“There’s someone coming. From the west this time. Could be Monty heading back, it looks like the same plane.”</p><p>“Damn. If it’s him again, he’ll land over by the lake.” Phryne cursed. This was why she never bothered with plans; it was so easy for them to fall apart.</p><p>“Strange that he would come back again.” Jack mused. “Perhaps he thought of an especially pithy insult and wanted to deliver it in person?”</p><p>As they watched the plane passed overhead, it began to circle round and descend, aiming for the slope where they had crashed. Without a storm and an empty fuel tank to contend with, the pilot made a much better job of it, pulling up a short distance from the wreckage and jumping out.</p><p>“It’s not Monty,” Jack observed quietly, squinting to try and get a better look at the man who seemed vaguely familiar. “I think it’s one of the mechanics from Melbourne airfield... Biggles or something equally ridiculous”</p><p>“Biggo?” Phryne asked. She remembered the man; he’d always seemed something of a gentle giant and blushed charmingly whenever she added a suggestive lilt to his nickname – a fact which, naturally, made her do so every time she spoke to him. “I wonder what he’s doing here - it’s not much of a rescue attempt, he only brought a two-seater plane.”</p><p>Jack winced as he saw the man extract a large, heavy-looking wrench from the cockpit, smacking it into a meaty hand as he wandered over to inspect the wreckage of the Swallow.</p><p>“I don’t think rescue is on his mind at all. Better get ready.”</p><p>He dropped down from the tree, paused for a second, then pulled his partner close in a brief but intense embrace. “I love you, Phryne. Good luck.”</p><p>“I love you, too. Don’t worry about me. I’ve gotten us out of tighter spots than this.”</p><p>Jack nodded and made off through the trees towards the denser undergrowth, close to where Phryne had been accosted by the spider. She was right, of course. Still, it was always possible that this was the time her luck would finally run out. He had accepted it, but it was important to him that if that ever happened, his last words to her were words of love. Their partnership deserved nothing less.</p><p>“Help! Heeelp!”</p><p>Phryne’s attempts at playing damsel in destress were never especially convincing, but they didn’t need to be. She just needed to attract the man’s attention. Once under the cover of the trees, his bulk would be less of an advantage against her speed and agility. Besides, they had a plan.</p><p>“Mrs F? Is that you?”</p><p>The call that came back seemed friendly enough; if it hadn’t been for Jack’s warning, she might have been cautiously optimistic. As it was, she decided to trust her partner, keeping out of sight of the approaching man so she could observe him before giving away her position.</p><p>“His Lordship sent me to pick you up. Said you was in a spot’a trouble.”</p><p>Again, the calm, reassuring tone, but she could see him now, see the way he held the wrench in his fist and the red spatter down the front of his overalls looked a lot like the wax that had been used to plug up the damaged fuel tank. Jack had been right. She had no idea what they could have done to offend him, but every instinct was screaming at her that this man did not intend a rescue. She slipped silently towards the rendezvous point, stopping behind a large tree to call out.</p><p>“If you’re here to help us, why do you need that wrench?”</p><p>“Just a precaution. His Lordship said you was armed.”</p><p>“I don’t want to hurt you, Biggo. I just want to know why you sabotaged my plane.”</p><p>She was far enough ahead that she risked letting him see her, hoping that he didn’t have a gun on him as well as the wrench. His eyes, which had - on the few times she’d had cause to notice them - been shy, were cold, full of the icy anger of a long-nursed grievance.</p><p>“I’da thought you’da worked that out. Fancy detective like you. Guess someone like me’s too far beneath your notice. And it’s Mr Biggs to you. Donnie Biggs. Name ring a bell?”</p><p>Phryne was fairly sure she’d never heard the name Donnie Biggs in her life, although something about it was tickling at the back of her mind. She moved off between the trees. The mechanic’s bulk as he struggled through the undergrowth made for slow and noisy progress and she took care to make sure he never quite lost the trail. The bush gave her an advantage in that regard, but it also made it next to impossible to get a clear shot. Ducking behind a tree she decided to chance it, aiming for centre mass and hoping he wouldn’t have time to duck out the way. It was a near thing but he realised what she was doing a split second before she fired and managed to jump behind a tree.</p><p>Phryne moved off again at once. She was out of ammunition but at this point the man chasing her didn’t know that. He was also angry, and having admitted his part in the sabotage, now appeared quite keen on elaborating his motives, something which had the dual advantage of satisfying Phryne’s curiosity and helping her keep track of his movements.</p><p>“How about Big Arthur? You remember him. You got any idea what you did to him? You and that fucking copper.”</p><p>Phryne rifled swiftly through her mental catalogue of old cases until she reached 1928 - a sad case of mothers and sons, a victim more of a villain than the killer they had caught. So much had happened in the years since, it felt like a lifetime ago.</p><p>“I remember him. Who was he to you?”</p><p>“Uncle Arthur was a good man. A damn good man. Till you, you interfering bitch. You threw is wife in the clink and he was never the same. Drank hi’self to death without her. And for what? Some gang scum wasn’t worth my shit.”</p><p>“She killed a man, Mr Biggs. Not a good man, but still a man.”</p><p>“Yeah. The likes of her will never be above the law. Not like you. Well out here there’s no law. Just you and me and no way to call for help.”</p><p>He seemed to have forgotten about Jack entirely, for which Phryne was grateful. The cold calculation that she had seen in his eyes when he was still trying to string her along had given way to a wild fury, one that would hopefully make him stupid. He was still following at a distance, his heavy footfalls shaking leaves down from the trees as he passed.</p><p>She slowed slightly; he needed to be near enough that he would have to follow closely rather than changing course and trying to head her off. She saw the tree she was heading for, the gnarled bark twisted up into a series of grotesques along its ancient trunk. The man lunged, swinging wildly with the wrench, a deadly blow that would have cracked her scull like an egg if it had connected. She ducked and he hit the trunk of the tree, sending splinters ricocheting across her path like bullets.</p><p>Biggs swore in frustration at the near miss and put on a burst of speed as Phryne vaulted over an entirely unremarkable patch of bracken. Donnie Biggs fell with a crash, his legs tangled in the sad remains of Phryne’s stocking, which had been strung between two trees at ankle height like a tripwire. She spun round, pointing her now empty pistol at his head.</p><p>“Don’t move!” She shouted, praying he wouldn’t call her bluff.</p><p>The man was angry enough to risk it if he’d been on his feet, as it was Phryne bought them the hesitation they needed and, right on cue, Jack dropped from the tree, his full weight landing on the larger man’s back. Without the element of surprise and the fact Biggs was already winded, Jack could never have hoped to take him down. As it was, he managed a rather deft arrest, the part of his derbies being played on this occasion by Phryne’s other stocking, which made an excellent debut in the role. It was surprising how difficult it was to get out of those things when tied properly, as Jack could personally testify.</p><p>“Nicely done, Inspector.” Phryne thanked him, still slightly breathless.</p><p>“All part of the job, Miss Fisher. Now. Don’t we have a plane to catch?”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Family Reunions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back in Melbourne and back together again our heros celebrate the end of another case...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies for the delay. Real life has been especially shitty this week but I hope this extra fluffy denouement is worth the wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The train clacked along peacefully through the early evening light, the soothing rhythm synchronising with Dot’s quiet snores as she lay, wrapped in a blanket, curled up along one of the benches. On the other side, Dr McMillan and Ava sat close, taking advantage of the relative privacy; Ava’s arm wrapped companionably around Mac’s, their fingers interlaced, Mac’s head resting comfortably on her partner’s shoulder.</p><p>Fredrick Burn, who had confessed to running an illegal gambling operation, was being transported to City South by two constables, at Hugh’s request. He had contacted the luckless Sgt Hennelly’s boss, Detective Inspector Grant, who knew Inspector Robinson by reputation. He also had far more in the way of brains and integrity than Dot had previously seen from the New South Wales force and had apologised profusely for his subordinate’s behaviour before agreeing to turn Burn over for questioning. He had even gone so far as to invite Dot to pass the information on to City South. Sadly, not to Hugh, who was out collecting a suspect, but to a very flustered Neville Martin who received a sizable piece of her mind; she had not forgotten her suspicions that he had been telling tales about her to her husband. He was at least able to confirm that Phryne was alive and had at last been located, a fact which did a great deal more to encourage Dot’s spirit of Christian forgiveness than the man’s stuttered apologies.</p><p>The telephone call had not been able to confirm for certain that Jack had also been found; it appeared to be third or fourth hand information passed on from the Air Force, although Martin had been hopeful that both detectives would have returned to Melbourne by the time they got back. Having nothing better to go on, the three women had decided to return with the prisoner, Dot convinced that Miss Phryne would be waiting for her at Wardlow when they arrived.</p><p>“I’m glad your Miss Fisher’s turned up, Lisbit.” Ada remarked, squeezing Mac’s hand ever so slightly where it rested in hers.</p><p>“Like a bad penny,” Mac agreed wryly. “I knew she would. She’s too stubborn to die.”</p><p>Ada chuckled knowingly and nodded towards the younger woman still sleeping opposite them. “It would have been hard for young Dottie if she’d come a cropper in the mountains.”</p><p>It would have been harder for Mac, and they both knew it, but that was a conversation that could keep forever in the hope it was never needed. Both women had seen too much in their lives to waste time borrowing trouble. Better to be grateful for what you had.</p><p>“Reggo and Whiskers seem to think very highly of her.” Ada changed the subject, not entirely tactfully, their conversation with the two men had put her in something of a thoughtful frame of mind.</p><p>It had been a very short interview, hardly worthy of the word interrogation. Reggie had teared up at the thought that something might have happened to his ‘Little Miss Trouble’ and Billy Whiskers had confided in them that Phryne had actually organised an informal wedding reception for them at Wardlow. The Inspector, as a civil servant with a secret passion for thumbing his nose at authority, had presided as officiant. He had then pointedly explained that he had in fact been in bed with a nasty head cold for the entire evening and had no idea what had transpired at Phryne’s little soiree.</p><p>Mac couldn’t help smiling at that. She had spent a lot of time working with Jack Robinson and had come to the conclusion that he was one of the few men whose company she could not only stand, but would readily seek out. Insufferable as the pair of them could be, she was very happy that Phryne and her Inspector had found each other.</p><p>“Decent of Phryne and Jack to put on a little shindig like that. I can see why the Reggo and Billy are so fond.” Ada added. She had been absentmindedly stroking the back of Mac’s hand, and as she spoke, she moved, almost imperceptibly to caress her ring finger.</p><p>The question hung in the air, unvoiced but tangible, punctuated by Dot’s gentle breathing and the clickety-clack of the train speeding them towards home. Loving as their relationship was, both women were, by necessity and temperament, guarded when it came to matters of intimacy. The idea of a public declaration, even if it only extended to their closest friends, was a long way beyond the scope of what either of them had ever imagined.</p><p>Mac cleared her throat, shifting a little so she could look up into Ada’s handsome face. She traced the strong line of her jaw, those dark eyes with the thick lashes that had wooed her so effortlessly over whisky and cigarettes in the Adventuresses’ Club Lounge. Her heart was in her mouth as the answered, but that didn’t mean she was about to start mincing her words.</p><p>“Are you hinting that I should make an honest woman of you, Spiffy?”</p><p>Ada barked out a laugh that made Dot shift on her bench; she let out a quiet, snuffling snore before turning over and settling down to eavesdrop.</p><p>“You wouldn’t stand a chance, old girl.” Ada planted a surreptitious kiss on Macs lips in acceptance of her proposal. “But I think a little party would be smashing.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jack and Phryne made it back to Melbourne in very good time to be greeted at the airfield by Bert, Cec and to their surprise Phryne’s Aunt Prudence. The latter had been outraged not to have learned of their disappearance before the report in the newspaper and had insisted on being present to assure herself that the pair were safe and sound.</p><p>They also brought the news that two of Jack’s men – including Hugh – and Lord Monty, were in the hospital following an altercation with Donnie Biggs. Phryne expressed a certain amount of regret at having failed to shoot the erstwhile mechanic, although she was mollified slightly when Jack pointed out he was unlikely to be going anywhere. They had left him in bushland securely tied to a tree and used his plane to radio the RAFF base. Phryne had easily sweet-talked Compton into sending someone to pick him up and deliver him to City South; a fact which caused Jack to roll his eyes at the distant mountains and smirk at her. It had taken him a few years, but he had finally managed to enjoy watching her flirt her way to victory, knowing as he did, that her heart was securely in his keeping.</p><p>Having quickly satisfied herself that Hugh was alright – Dot would never have forgiven her otherwise – Phryne left Jack to tend to his wounded comrades and headed back to Wardlow for a hot bath and a stiff drink, but not before Lord Montague had once again demanded that somebody arrest her for trying to steal his plane. Unfortunately for him, Hugh had had time to update his boss on Burn’s arrest and possible involvement in the sabotage. It was just the link they needed, and as Lord Monty had frankly admitted to placing a bet on the contest, and Jack was not in the best of moods, the Marquis of Wittering-upon-Tweed found himself cooling his heels in a cell at City South whilst they attempted to get further details out of Burn.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Cec and Bert were waiting for Dot at the entrance to Flinders Street Station with the welcome news that both Phryne and Jack had returned safe and sound, and the much less welcome news that Hugh had been at the hospital.</p><p>“Don’t worry Dottie, he was fine when we saw him. Said he had a bit of a bump, but the doc gave him the all clear.” Cec reassured her.</p><p>“Him and the Inspector’s went back to the station to wait for that Burn bloke. Wouldn’t fancy being in his shoes when he gets there.” Bert grinned, a little evilly, not at all sorry to see the man get his comeuppance.</p><p>“Is Miss Phryne with him?”</p><p>“Nah, dropped her off home.” Cec added. “Said she’d catch up once she’d freshened up a bit.”</p><p>“Yeah, that and she was about thirty seconds from pounding that Lord Monty bloke into the pavement. Lucky the Inspector locked ‘im up really.”</p><p>Mac laughed out loud, partly in amusement, mostly in relief at her friends’ safe return, and Ada chuckled sardonically. She couldn’t help but like Phryne, despite her earlier irritation at the way she’d partnered her up with that cretin Monty; Miss Fisher had more gumption than anyone else she’d ever met, and Ada was a woman to appreciate gumption when she found it. It was one of the thinks she loved best about Mac.</p><p>The two women said their goodbyes and headed off to Mac’s flat, which was within easy walking distance of the station. Dot had the impression they wanted to be alone, and although she was fairly bursting with the desire to pass on their good news – not to mention her own – she was determined to let them bring up the subject of their engagement in their own time. This seemed likely to be soon, as Mac asked her to let Phryne know the two of them would be dropping by later that evening. Of course, God might not be willing to bless their union - something Dot tried not to think too hard about - but Miss Phryne surely would, and that was easily the next best thing.</p><p>The drive itself was a quiet one. Dot had a lot to think about. She had spoken to Mac about the baby whilst she was packing up for the return to Melbourne. The problem was…she loved Hugh, very much and wanted to start their family, their lack of children had been a source of quiet sadness in an otherwise very happy marriage. But still, she couldn’t imagine giving up the life she had built for herself as Miss Phryne’s assistant.</p><p>Not telling Hugh about the baby was unfair to him. He had come a long way towards accepting her more modern ways since the early days of their courtship. But this? Would he make her give it all up once the baby was born? Or sooner, he wouldn’t want her rushing around after murderers whilst she was carrying his child.</p><p>Dr Mac had listened with sympathy to her plight and pointed out that there was no way to know how Hugh was going to react until he’d heard the news. She suggested giving the man the chance to impress her.</p><p>“And don’t leave Phryne in the dark. I’m sure she’ll have a suggestion or two.” Mac had never known Phryne to be short of a scheme when a friend was in need of one.</p><p>Dot had been less than convinced, and she approached Wardlow with the sinking feeling that she might be seeing Miss Phryne again, only to have to say goodbye.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Phryne answered the door herself, only to be practically bowled over by Dot who embraced her in a tearful hug which would likely spot the fine silk of her robe.</p><p>“Oh Miss, I’m so glad you’re alright. I was so worried, I thought something terrible had happened to you!”</p><p>“Really? I heard you’d been fighting miscreants and commandeering the Air Force!” Phryne laughed, relieved to see that Dot was none the worse for the hospital stay she’d heard about from Hugh.</p><p>“We brought Fredrick Burn back to the station, Miss. I expect you’d like to go and interview him?”</p><p>Phryne very much would, but something about the way Dot asked the question made her hesitate.</p><p>“I’m sure Jack and Hugh have the matter in hand for the moment, Dot. Is there something troubling you?”</p><p>The younger woman looked so miserable that Phryne began to feel seriously worried – perhaps whatever had taken Dot to the hospital was more serious than she had let on to her husband. Deciding that Burn was far less important than her friend’s wellbeing, she steered her into the kitchen and poured her a large glass of sherry. Dot gulped it down, hiccupped, and took a deep breath before she began.</p><p>“Do you remember, Miss, when Hugh and I first got engaged and I thought I wouldn’t be able to work for you anymore?”</p><p>“I do, and I’m very glad you were able to stay. Who would pack off the whole Air Force to track me down if I didn’t have you to give them orders?”</p><p>To Phryne’s surprise, Dot looked even more wretched at the idea.</p><p>“It’s just that, I might not be able to do so much, next time…”</p><p>Phryne looked up at her companion, saw the blush, the way her hand had strayed to her belly as she spoke…</p><p>“A baby? Dot, darling I’m so happy for you, that’s marvellous news!”</p><p>“It’s not for certain, but Dr McMillan thinks it’s likely.” She sniffed, a weak smile breaking through her sadness.</p><p>“And Hugh,” Phryne delved, determined to discover why the event her friend had been hoping for, for so long was a cause of such misery “he wants you to give up your job again?”</p><p>“I haven’t told him yet, Miss.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t see that being a long-term solution.”</p><p>Dot looked down at the empty sherry glass in front of her, glaring at it as if willing it to provide answers. It did not. Phryne reached out and put a comforting hand over her friend’s where it sat on the well-scrubbed wood.</p><p>“Tell Hugh, and once the baby is born you can decide what you would like to do. I’m sure a nanny of some kind can be arranged if you need one.”</p><p>“Thank you, Miss. Do you really think I could keep working for you?”</p><p>“If that’s what you want, Dot, I can’t imagine anyone being able to stop you.”</p><p>The entrance through the kitchen door of Hugh, followed by Inspector Robinson, cut off any further conversation on the subject.</p><p>“Hugh!”</p><p>Dot jumped up and kissed her husband happily, ignoring the fact that public displays of affection in front of his boss still made him blush after all these years. She had only been away from him for a couple of days, but it had felt like a lifetime and the sight of his dear face made her heart stutter happily in her chest.</p><p>“Hello, Dottie.” Hugh <em>was</em> blushing a little, but happily. He didn’t think he would ever grow used to how lucky he felt to call this woman his wife.</p><p>“Good to see you, Dot. I hear you’ve been manhandling my suspects for me,” the Inspector added, wryly.</p><p>Dot looked a little worried by the rebuke, but Jack brushed it off easily; for all his complaining, the only real injury she had inflicted on Fredrick Burn had been to his pride.</p><p>“Hugh made a fine job of the interrogation. Burn admitted to bribing Biggs to sabotage the plane and has agreed to testify against him in court.”</p><p>Hugh looked extremely gratified by his mentor’s praise, the Inspector had made a point of letting him lead the interrogation against Burn and Lord Monty saying it was his case and he should see it through. He’d also made a point of praising Hugh’s efforts when updating the Chief Inspector on his return. Nevertheless, Detective Collins had said goodbye to his newfound authority without regret. The two days behind his boss’s desk had been eye opening and whilst he was sure that one day he would be ready to move up the ladder, for now, he was very happy to have the Inspector back in charge.</p><p>“He claims he only wanted Biggs to slow you down so he could make money off the betting, he didn’t think you’d actually crash,” Hugh added in irritation, it had been a matter of frustration that he couldn’t tie Burn directly to the murder attempt.</p><p>“And Lord Montgomery has admitted to the gambling and said he introduced Biggs to Burn as a bookie. Claims he didn’t know anything about the sabotage at all and unfortunately, I think he’s telling the truth.” Jack chimed in, equally frustrated. It would have been very satisfying to be able to throw the book at all three of them.</p><p>“Well, I suppose you can’t have everything.” Phryne shrugged philosophically; she had no doubt a man with Lord Monty’s connections would weasel out of a minor charge like that. As much as they always tried to strive for justice, Donnie Biggs had been right when he said that the rich could often buy themselves a degree of leniency the poor could not afford.</p><p>“Looks like he’s bankrupted himself though, seemed very pleased to hear that Burn had been arrested and he wouldn’t have to pay what he owed him.” Jack added as if reading her mind. He flashed a small, knowing smile at her, before adding: “If you want a chance at another Melbourne to Sydney Air Race, you may have to organise it yourself.”</p><p>“Now there’s an idea.”</p><p>Phryne beamed at him, utterly delighted that he would make such a suggestion and already making plans to take him up on it, but before she could get too lost in his smile, a brief cough and a look from Dot reminded her that her friend had important news to impart. She took the hint, and Jack’s arm, steering him deftly towards the door.</p><p>“Jack, could you come into the parlour for a moment? I could use your assistance with something.”</p><p>Her high-pitched attempts to clear the room for Dot had all the subtly of an active volcano, but given that the intended target was Hugh, this hardly mattered. Subtlety had never really been his strong suit.</p><p>Jack followed her out obediently, and Phryne lost no time in explaining Dot’s situation to him as soon as the parlour doors were shut. Having experienced Rosie’s frustration over their inability to conceive, he had been particularly sensitive to his friends’ disappointment on the subject and was suitably delighted at the news.</p><p>Back in the kitchen, Dot was busy scrutinising her husband for injuries.</p><p>“I spoke to the station, they said you’d been hurt?”</p><p>“Just a little bump, poor Neville had it worse.”</p><p>“Constable Martin?” Dot was surprised, she had not gotten the impression that the two men were on first name terms.</p><p>“He’s still in the hospital. Biggs clocked him with a wrench. The doctor says he’ll be alright, but it was a nasty break.”</p><p>Dot wasn’t sure quite what to say to that, although she felt rather guilty at having been so sharp with the man when she’d phoned the station. Perhaps she should drop off some scones at the hospital for him by way of apology.</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re safe. And you were right about Miss Phryne’s friends. They didn’t know anything about the sabotage.”</p><p>“And you were right about Fredrick Burn. You’re so clever, Dottie, I’m lucky to have another detective in the family.”</p><p>Dot took his hand and placed it over her belly, smiling a little nervously.</p><p>“I think our family might be about to get a little bigger, Hugh.”</p><p>The transition of his expression from confusion to unadulterated joy was a delight to behold.</p><p>“You… you mean?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, we’re going to have a baby.”</p><p>Dot squeaked as he picked her up bodily and swung her around, both of them giggling until the motion began to make Dot dizzy and he desisted with a guilty look.</p><p>“Sorry, Dottie. Are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine, Hugh, no need to make a fuss. And Miss Fisher has offered to get a nanny if we need one, so I can still work for her.”</p><p>She glared at him with the same ferocity that had caused Captain Compton to declare her officer material. They had danced this particular dance several times over their courtship and their marriage, and if there was one thing Hugh had learned, it was when not to push his luck.</p><p>“That’s very kind of her,” he replied diplomatically. “I wouldn’t want you to have to take a baby with you on an investigation.”</p><p>Dot responded the only way she could think to, by flinging her arms round his neck and kissing him till she ran out of breath.</p><p>Their happy moment was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone and the news that Donnie Biggs had been picked up by Compton’s men and dropped off at the RAAF. Phryne – who wanted to spend some time with Dot celebrating her happy news – declared she’d had more than enough of the man’s company and was happy for Jack and Hugh to deal with the mopping up whilst she waited for Dr Mac and Ada to join them for evening drinks.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In the end, the formal arrest of Donnie Biggs went surprisingly smoothly. The leftover stocking from the informal one was passed to Jack by Compton with the hope that he would return it to its rightful owner. He got the distinct impression the man would have rather returned it in person, but managed not to look to smug about it.</p><p>Hours bound up in the bush followed by a cramped airplane ride had not done anything for Biggs’ temper, and they were treated to a detailed tirade, once again blaming Jack and Phryne for his aunt’s arrest and his uncle’s subsequent descent into alcohol and ignominy. He was angry enough to confirm Burn’s claim that he had paid him for his services as a saboteur. This was a bonus - as both men seemed more than eager to lay blame on each other, neither would be able to purchase leniency through cooperation.</p><p>It wasn’t until they had locked the man up in the cells at City South and were once again in the police car driving back to Wardlow that Hugh voiced the suggestion that was on his mind.</p><p>“Sir, um… Jack?”</p><p>The Inspector looked at him in surprise. They were officially on first name terms when off-duty, but Hugh rarely took advantage of the privilege.</p><p>“Dottie thinks she’s expecting.”</p><p>“Yes, Phryne couldn’t keep it to herself. Congratulations, Hugh! And I’d watch out – with Miss Fisher around I suspect any baby of Dot’s will be picking the lock on the nursery door before they’re on solid food.”</p><p>Hugh laughed in agreement, far more delighted by the idea in theory than he’d likely be in practice.</p><p>“I was wondering, would you and Miss Fisher, I mean Mrs Fisher-Robinson… I’ve not asked Dottie, but I’m sure she’d love it if you would be the godparents?”</p><p>“I’d be honoured, Hugh. And if Dot hasn’t asked Phryne the same thing by the time we’ve gotten home, I’ll be very surprised.”</p><p>He wasn’t wrong.</p><p>They arrived to find a full house. Phryne and Dot had been joined by Mac, Ada and the two cabbies who had driven them over. Mac, blushing nearly as red as her hair, had broached their idea of having a little ceremony at Wardlow, which Phryne responded to with unrestrained enthusiasm, and, as Dot had predicted, happily congratulated Ada on her victory in the air race. By the time Jack and Hugh had joined them, a lively little party was in full swing, and they lost no time tucking into Mr Butler’s excellent array of sandwiches.</p><p>Phryne had been a little surprised when Dot had asked her to be godmother. She was hardly the maternal sort, but it never occurred to her to refuse. She felt a great protectiveness towards her protégé, and any child of Dot and Hugh’s would never want for anything whilst they had Phryne Fisher to look out for them. She just hoped she wasn’t going to be called upon to change any nappies.</p><p>Mac and Ada were dancing an enthusiastic Charleston and laughing like schoolgirls. It meant a lot that they felt safe here, that she was able to offer them some small refuge from the judgement of the world, just as she had done for Reggo and Billy.</p><p>Jack sidled in, dropping a kiss on the back of her neck and placing a quiet hand on her waist. They had shared many adventures together, and whilst they had always survived, too many had been bought with tragedy. It made those rare times where everything fell into place all the more precious. Those were the moments worth living in.</p><p>She squeezed Jack’s hand, knowing he understood exactly what she was feeling, and turned to the open door of the parlour where Mr Butler had entered with a tray of drinks.</p><p>“More champagne, Mr B!” She twinkled at him.</p><p>They had a great deal to celebrate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone worried about Dot's pregnant drinking you can blame the era! Turns out people didn't really start worrying about the effects of pre natal alcohol till the 60s-70s and prior to that it drinking to calm the nerves was actively encouraged. It was also believed to be a remedy for premature labour to the point where hospitals would actually administer it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Getting Away From It All</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the wedding Phryne and Jack make good on their plans to fly away on holiday...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to everyone who's read this fic and left comments and kudos you are all the absolute best and I will get round to replying to them all. RL continues to kick me in the goolies so I'm doing my best but I do read and reread every one and they are making things so much better.</p>
<p>Here's a little, slightly smutty epilogue to end on. Hope you all enjoy it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Less than three weeks after their adventure in the Blue Mountains, Phryne and Jack hosted a charming private ceremony for Mac and Ada in the Wardlow garden. It was hardly time to plan a wedding, but Mac pointed out that if they didn’t get it done quickly Phryne would probably get herself declared dead again and she’d have difficulty hosting the event as a ghost! Phryne of course pointed out that they had only been missing for a couple of days and hadn’t been declared dead at all this time, but reluctantly took her point. As it was, she remained forcefully alive, and delighted to preside over the union of her two friends, with a glowing Dorothy Collins standing up as ‘best woman’ for Ada and Jack, rather touched, consenting to be Mac’s best man.</p>
<p>The world might not be ready to recognise the union as a marriage marriage, but their friends were; a fact which had Mac tearing up for the first time since losing Daisy to a jealous lover. The two women, dressed in complementary red and cream waistcoats, made an exceptionally handsome couple, and the champagne and whiskey flowed easily through the night and well into the morning.</p>
<p>It was around 1am or so when Jack, a little tipsy on champagne and waltzing, made a request.</p>
<p>“We could always go back.”</p>
<p>“Back where?” Phryne asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.</p>
<p>A tendency to assume that the other party had ready access to whatever was passing through the other’s head had always been the one flaw in their otherwise excellent communication.</p>
<p>“Anywhere, really. Bushwalking. It’s the only holiday I can imagine where you won’t come across a dead body in the first five minutes.”</p>
<p>Phryne glared at the accuracy of his observation and retaliated by pointedly stealing a canape of his plate.</p>
<p>“It was beautiful out in the mountains,” she agreed, giving the matter some thought. “With better preparation, it could even be considered romantic.”</p>
<p>“It could,” he agreed, before leaning in and whispering a few choice suggestions for things he would like to do to her under the open stars.</p>
<p>They sounded so appealing that Phryne actually fed her second stolen canape to Jack, smiling as he accepted the treat, flicking his tongue ever so lightly against the tip of her finger.</p>
<p>“In that case, I should start looking for a new plane.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It had taken several months to find an adequate replacement for the Swallow Moth. Long enough for Dot to start showing a little bump and for Hugh to swell so much with vicarious pride you might almost think he was the one carrying the incipient Collins. The two senior detectives were more than happy for them, but Phryne in particular was growing exhausted by the entire subject of babies before the poor child had even arrived.</p>
<p>Neville was recovering well enough to have returned to desk duty, and to the surprise of everyone had struck up something of a friendship with Hugh. The detective had been assisting him in his recovery by training him in the art of boxing. A matter which of course had everything to do with the spirit of Christian forgiveness and nothing at all to do with the fact that it was a sport that actively encouraged him to punch his subordinate repeatedly in the face.</p>
<p>Donnie Biggs had been handed a lengthy jail sentence for two counts of attempted murder and the assault on Neville Martin and was unlikely to breathe the free air for many years. Burn, slippery as ever had managed to avoid a conviction as an accessory, but had received a lesser sentence for the gambling racket and paying Biggs to fix the race.  </p>
<p>Lord Monty, as Phryne had rightly predicted, managed to avoid prosecution altogether, although she had it on good authority that he had burned a great many social bridges in doing so. He had returned to England where, rumour had it, he had been forced to sell up his estate and find work as a flight instructor to the sons of still wealthy gentlemen. A fate that was certainly better than he actually deserved, but considerably worse than he thought he did.</p>
<p>With Dot and Hugh all but buried under an ever expanding pile of knitted baby clothes and Mac and Ada still submerged in a honeymoon glow of their own, it seemed like the perfect time to take the brand new, custom built Swallow Moth out for a spin. They flew west this time, winding a lazy path along the coast towards Adelaide, before veering south to set down on Kangaroo Island. Phryne had chosen a spot near a clear blue lagoon which sparkled merrily in the sunlight; they pitched their tent at the top of the beach, eager to enjoy a dip in the cool waters.</p>
<p>It was idyllic, and between the industrious splash fight (eventually declared a draw), Mr Butler’s excellent selection of provisions and a bottle of good merlot, all seemed right with the world. They spread a blanket out in front of the tent to watch the stars come out.</p>
<p>“It was a marvellous idea, coming out here, Jack. We should do it more often.”</p>
<p>“Could be a retirement plan one day.” He agreed. “Find a deserted Island somewhere, I mean if there’s no one else there, not even you could find a murder.”</p>
<p>“Don’t count on it.” She laughed. It was probably the wine and the peace of the place, but the ridiculous suggestion sounded almost tempting.</p>
<p>“True. You’d probably find us a cave full of bloodthirsty pirates before we’d unpacked the tent.”</p>
<p>Phryne tilted her head in a satisfied matter, accepting the compliment and humming in delight when Jack took advantage of the move to tease her neck with his lips and tongue. He took his time, stripping her slowly of each item of clothing, mapping the constellations of freckles across her chest and shoulders with kisses as the stars burst into life above their heads.</p>
<p>Her soft sighs grew louder, merging with the crashing of the waves as he moved down to tease her nipples, her ribcage expanding and contracting under his hands. There must be something about the tranquillity of the open air that let her accept his torturously slow pace. Time slowed, as it had by the lake, the sparkling allegro that was her normal mode of being winding down to a slow, glowing cantabile.</p>
<p>When he finally dispensed with her blush, silk knickers and lowered his mouth to taste her, Phryne was floating in a trancelike state, his touch, the sound of the sea, the salt tang of the evening air all combining in unstoppable waves of exquisite pleasure.</p>
<p>She pulled him up so she could kiss that beautiful mouth, dispensing with his clothes deftly, and far more quickly than he had with hers. For all her haste to get to his skin, when he was finally naked, she took him insider her slowly, setting an unhurried, even pace that matched the ebb and swell of the waves against the shore. It could have been hours, days, whole lifetimes that they lay there, merging and separating only to come together again until finally they crashed down to earth together, joyously happy and utterly spent.</p>
<p>They lay tangled up in each other, nothing between their skin and the warm evening air, not speaking, enjoying the comfortable silence and the simple, giddy pleasure of being there, together, carefree and guiltless in their perfect little Eden.</p>
<p>Of course, it couldn’t last. Phryne extracted herself from Jack’s sleepy embrace with a regretful sigh and made for the bushes to answer a call of nature. A few minutes later the sweet tranquillity was broken by the harsh crack of a rifle shot, followed almost at once by Phryne’s cry of alarm.</p>
<p>“Jack, come quickly, this man’s been murdered!”</p>
<p>Inspector Robinson shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, resigned but in no way surprised. He, sighed, got up, fished Phryne’s pistol out of her bag - just in case - and followed her.</p>
<p>Their wedding might have been little more than politically convenient sleight of hand, but he knew very well who he was married to, and he couldn’t imagine spending his life with anyone else.</p>
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